


Be Mine

by Electricviolinist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, reference to Bondage, reference to underage, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electricviolinist/pseuds/Electricviolinist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small boy ran away from his mother's wake, only to meet some frightening teenagers in the woods he'd wanted to hide in. But there was worse out in the woods, a creature that found the boy appealing, wanting to claim him as its own. Rating for later chapters. Sterek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He'd run from his mother's funeral.

There had been tons of people in his house, milling around, looking at him with pity, talking in not so hushed voices, saying things like 'that poor kid,' and 'imagine grouping up without a Mom,' and 'poor John, all alone with that hyperactive kid,' and 'we all thought he was gonna be sheriff. That's not gonna happen now is it?'

Later in his life he might have understood, that was just the sort of thing people said at wakes; meaningless sympathy, mindless chatter, but, at the age of eight, he didn't know that. He'd taken it for hints. He was something to be pitied because he'd lost his mom, but not as much as his dad, because his dad had lost his mom and was now stuck with the hyperactive kid.

His dad had been crying a lot, drinking a lot. He'd been watching from the stairs when his idol passed out on the couch last night. Right now, his dad was being looked after by Scott's mom. They were talking together quietly in the kitchen as other well-meaning people wondered, talking quietly about Mom. No one really wanted to talk to him. There'd been a couple of 'Hey sweetie, how ya doing?'s and the odd pat on the shoulder, but it hadn't taken much to get out the back door. It was already twilight, but he didn't think anyone would notice any time soon.

He thought about going to Scott's house, but he knew Scott wouldn't be there, because Scott was at some grandparent's house now. Scott's mom had whispered something about Scott being too young to understand. So he didn't stop at Scott's house. He just walked. Miles.

At least, it might have been miles. He was only little, and his sense of time and distance were probably not as developed as they would become. He made it as far as the trees that outlined the preserve, but it was almost pitch black by then, and he hadn't thought to bring a torch. In fact, he hadn't brought anything.

He was shivering now, not just from the cold. The woods, which had always seemed like a fun place for adventures during the day, seemed to loom threateningly in the dark. But that didn't stop him. He was ADHD and impulsive; scary forests that could have come straight out of a fairy tale were little more than a temptation to him.

He only got so far in before he realised he couldn't see. The sun had disappeared from the sky, and any glow from the stars seemed to be blocked by the trees. He shuffled blindly for a while before he heard the snuffling. It was probably something tiny, like a squirrel, but to his eight year old ears, it was nothing short of a dragon ready to roar and eat him.

He didn't scream, because he may be eight but he wasn't some girl. But he did run, because he wasn't stupid.

He fell a lot. Over roots and rocks and other stuff. He grazed his knees and cut his hands, and he ran and ran and ran until he was caught by a pair of arms.

Then he screamed.

It took him a while to hear the voices.

"Shut him up! Where did he even come from?"

"I don't know!"

"Can't you make him stop? He's just a kid!"

"What do you suggest I do, Peter?"

"I don't know, knock him out? Gag him?"

"He's a kid!"

"Just … put a hand on his mouth or something!"

"He's like… eight!"

"You want me to do it?"

"No, just…"

A hand was placed gently over his mouth. It didn't calm him down.

"He's trying to bite me!"

"Well, maybe we could just use him as bait for the…"

"Peter!"

The one called Peter made a disgusted noise. "Fine, we take him back to the house. You can look after him until we've dealt with everything."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who doesn't want him to be eaten."

The one holding him moaned a bit, but he felt himself be lifted by an arm around his waist, the hand still on his mouth. He kicked and wriggled, but it did very little.

They got to a big house, and his brain, that had watched one too many episodes of Scooby Doo, couldn't help thinking that this was going to be haunted. It was practically a mansion, and obviously millions of years old, and had a great big door and was twice as tall as his house.

As he was dragged inside, he gave up kicking and tried scratching.

"Ow!" said the one holding him.

"Oh, little boy," sneered Peter, "Are we getting claws out, now? Do you think that's wise? You wouldn't want us to do the same, would you?"

There was enough light now for him to see Peter, who was a thin, sneering young man, who leant forward, right at him and finished; "You see, our claws are slightly bigger."

Peter's fingernails grew before his eyes. That time he screamed all the louder, and struggled for all he was worth.

"Peter!" scolded the one who held him.

"Well, have fun with my nephew, little boy," Peter smiled.

"Peter! What am I supposed to do with him?"

Peter shrugged, "Read him a bedtime story, teach him his ABCs, test him on his times tables, just make sure he doesn't leave this house until it's safe."

"Peter!"

"Hey, kid, what's your name?"

The boy told him. Peter laughed.

"Yeah, I'm never gonna say that. Have fun!"

"Peter!" protested the guy holding the boy.

But Peter had gone, leaving the boy with just the one who held him. He stilled. Looking around him, at the ancient furniture, at the luxurious carpets that could have been part of a film set, he saw nothing that could calm him.

The man holding him had stilled. He imaged the man was watching him.

"If I let go, do you promise you won't try to run?"

The boy nodded. The man holding him released him slowly, but he could see those hands ready to grab him once more, so he didn't try anything. He turned slowly so he could look at his captor.

The man was much younger than he expected. In fact, he thought this was a teenager more than a man, significantly taller than he was, but shorter than he'd expected.

"Who are you?" he asked instead of obeying his desperate need to run.

The teenager shifted slightly, "I don't think I should tell you that."

The boy frowned at him.

"Why not?"

"Because… then I'd have to kill you."

He jumped up in fear, and the teen looked sorry. "I don't mean… that was a joke!"

"A joke?" the boy repeated.

"Yes…"

"You know jokes are supposed to be funny, right? They're not supposed to make you piss your pants with fear."

"Yeah…"

"I think that was more a threat than a joke."

"No, look, it was just a stupid thing to say, I didn't mean it."

"Then don't say it!"

"Ok!"

There were a few moments of silence as the boy observed his captor. The teen shifted from foot to foot, but his hands were in his pockets as though he were trying to look relaxed.

"Come on," said the teen, pushing the boy gently into a room on the left, which turned out to be a kind of living room.

"What am I supposed to call you?" the boy asked.

The teen seemed surprised by the question. Maybe he'd expected the boy to hush up. But the boy never could be quiet. "I don't know…" said the teen, "Maybe sir?"

The boy blinked at him. "You want me to call you Sir?"

"Well, that's what people call strangers, right?"

"No, that's what shop assistants call my dad."

"Yes, fine, whatever," the teen mumbles, clearly annoyed.

"Well, sir," said the boy, throwing as much of a sneer into the word as he could, "what now?"

"Now we hope nothing turns up trying to eat you."

The boy's eyes widened. "Is that another joke?"

The teen smirked, "Nope."

The boy hesitated a moment, then made a run for the door. He never got there. The teen was super-fast, and had grabbed him before he'd even made contact with the handle.

He screamed again as the teen pulled him back into the room, which made the teen push a hand against his mouth again. "Just… will you shut up?" the teen cried. "Look, if you don't stop running I'm going to have to… tie you up or something…"

That did nothing to stop the boy fighting.

The teen pulled him back away from the door.

"Stop struggling!" the teen kept repeating, "You don't understand what's out there!"

That did little to calm the boy, who tried biting again. The teen growled and then his eyes glowed an unnatural shade of blue. The boy screamed.

"Enough!" yelled the teen, and he dragged the boy to a desk in the corner. Keeping one hand firmly on the boy's arm, he opened the drawer and pulled out duct tape.

"I warned you!" the teen growled, but the boy could barely see straight now, he was so scared. The teen pushed him firmly onto the couch, held him still with a knee and wound a great strip of duct tape around his wrists.

The boy felt ready to pass out from shock.

"Calm down!" The teenager ordered.

"You tied me up!" said the boy.

"To stop you hurting yourself," replied the teen.

"You want me to calm down because you've tied me up and because someone wants to eat me?!"

"Well… yes!" said the teen. "Just… it won't be long! My mom's out there now, she's taking care of everything. You'll be back home soon, back to your parents.

Parents. Mom. The casual way the teen talked about them. The boy bit his lips. He was not gonna cry in front of this teenager. No way.

"Oh, God!" groaned the teen, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" spat the boy.

"Look, it's going to be fine!" said the teen, "Really. We just couldn't leave you out in the woods, not tonight! You're safe so long as you stay inside this house."

They heard a door inside the house creak open.

They both froze. The teen turned. "Mom?" he called.

The boy could hear wind in the trees outside. He could hear the teen's obviously frightened breathing. And he could hear soft laugh coming from the next room.

"What's that?" he asked, suddenly strangely relieved to feel the warmth of the teen still so close to him.

"Wait here," said the teen.

"No!" said the boy, "I want to go home!"

"You can't. It's probably just a breeze or something anyway."

"I've never heard a breeze laugh!"

"It wasn't a laugh, it was just the air moving."

"Yeah, the air moving from someone's lungs as they laughed!"

"Shut up!" snapped the teen. "Stay here, I'm going to see what it is."

"That's a really stupid idea," the boy told him.

"It's probably nothing," said the teen, pushing the boy back down onto the sofa, and because he suspected the teen was more than capable of duct taping him to the sofa, the boy obeyed, even though it was a really stupid idea.

The teen crept to the door of the room and opened it carefully before slipping out.

"A really stupid idea," the boy repeated, because he knew it was a really stupid idea.

His hands still bound in front of him, the boy chose to stand in a corner, hoping that he could hold anything back that approached him with his hands. He could still hear a sound of laughter, shuffling, breathing, but not the teen. He didn't know whether to be pleased or terrified at that. He sunk further into the walls, as close to them as he could manage.

The walls swallowed him.

He screamed, at the top of his lungs as the solid walls on either side of him darkened and enveloped him. He screamed and rushed forward but he was trapped. Solid stone seemed to be pushing in on him, holding him still.

He saw the teen sprint back into the room, his eyes wide.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted.

The boy struggled as the walls wrapped around his body, screaming, writhing. He was lifted from his feet so he used them, too, to kick, even though he knew there was no point kicking walls.

"Let him go!" the teen shouted again, and his eyes lit up blue. And this time, his nails grew too, as Peter's had earlier.

"Are you going to attack me, little wolf-cub?" hissed a voice in the boy's ear.

"If I have to!" the teen growled.

"And do you think you could win?" The voice broke into a laugh, "oh little cub, little cub. I could devour this little human child right now. I could break him apart, I could take him somewhere you would never find him."

The teen growled once more and pounced. At least, the boy thought it was meant to be a pounce. He darted across the room in a gallop on all fours, and then leapt into the air, only to slam suddenly to a stop. The voice behind the boy laughed again, and the teen was launched across the room, to land on a table at a painful looking angle.

The boy fought anew at the sight. He hadn't particularly liked the teen and his threats and tying him up and leaving him alone when there were crazy wall people around ready to attack little boys, but he was far preferable to said wall person who went around actually attacking little boys.

"Hush, child. What is your name?" The voice was soft, now, a cool breath in his ear.

"Not telling you!" said the boy.

"Oh, child, I can find it out so easily."

"Yeah, well none of my teachers have learnt to say it!" cried the boy, triumphantly. He'd never really felt having such an unusual name was a good thing, but there was something immensely satisfying at denying the monster that held him anything.

"Hmm, I think I like you," said the monster, "you've got spirit."

"And arms," said the boy, for some reason.

"And a weight of sadness," said the monster, "Here in your heart. I can feel it. You've seen death."

"None of your business!" shouted the boy.

"Who was it? Let me see…"

A hand from nowhere grasped his head, and there he suddenly was, as his beautiful, intelligent, kind wonderful mother, lay on a hospital bed, singing his name. Making him promise to look after his dad. Telling him she loved him more than life.

"No!" he shouted, "No, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Oh my poor child," breathed the creature, "Such loss, so young!"

"None of your business!" he shouted, "get away! It's nothing to do with you!"

"I can take the pain away, little one. I can take you somewhere safe, somewhere you will always be safe; where you'll never need remember this place, this sadness!"

"No!" shouted the boy.

"You'll never need be a burden. You will be mine! Forever. I will keep you, just give me your pledge, give me yourself, and I will take care of you."

"Let go!" the boy screamed, louder.

"Look at me!"

The voice had changed. Where it had been breathy and echoing, it was now soft and gentle, where it had been scary, it now sounded like home, like the voice the boy had thought he'd never hear again, no matter how much he craved.

"Mom?"

"Look at me, sweetheart," said the voice, "turn around."

The wall no longer holding him, the boy still didn't move. He'd seen the light leave his Mom's eyes, he'd seen the doctors rush to her, to try to save her and fail. He'd listened to his father's broken words, the nonsense that told him his mom was dead. She couldn't be here.

"Come away with me," his mom's voice breathed in his ear. "You will be mine, forever."

The boy couldn't stand it any longer. He turned his head.

Another pair of arms grabbed him, lifted him away from his Mom. He yelped in shock.

"You can't take him!" the teen shouted, "He has a family! You can't steal him!"

"I can if he gives himself to me," hissed the boy's mom, now clear to see, all glowing skin and fresh clothes, not like that last time the boy had seen her in the hospital, pale and thin with dark eyes and limp hair. "He doesn't belong to anyone. His mother is dead. There is no one to claim him."

"He has a father!" hissed the teen.

"You want for me to wait for him little teen wolf?" hissed the boy's mom, who even as they watched grew thinner and stranger and taller, "He will grow up. Is sixteen the age boys become men, now?"

"Eighteen, and you still can't take him!" hissed the teen, "Because then he'll be mine!"

"Ha!" cried the creature, "You left him alone to be taken; he is not yours."

"No!" the teen protested, "I'll claim him."

"If he chooses you over me," hissed the creature. "And who would? Look at you, a worthless little beta. Not even strong enough to go on the hunt."

"I will be!" the teen replied, "I'll be strong enough!"

The creature smiled, and crept forward. The boy was limp in the teen's arms, too confused and shocked by this creature that had appeared to be his mother, but now shimmied across the room on legs too long, with skin too clear, with a face too beautiful. "You'll be mine," the creature whispered to him, "Forever. When you turn eighteen."

"No," the teen hissed, "stay away from him!"

The creature leaned in closer, even as the teen tried to escape. "So long," it breathed, and then in the boy's ear it whispered his name, clear and perfect, exactly as his mother would say it. He shivered.

And then the creature was gone, as a crowd of monsters burst in through the door.

 

...xxx...xxx...

 

When Talia Hale returned with the family and their worried faces, she found her son with his arms around a sobbing child. She had reacted with her usual grace and calm wisdom.

"Hey Derek. Is this a new friend?" she asked her son, crouching beside them and indicating for the rest of her pack to stay back. She didn't ask him to let go. They both looked like they needed each other at that moment.

He nodded, arms still tight and protective around the boy, who only barely lifted his head enough to stare at Talia with fear and worry.

"Hi there," she said, with her best Mom face, "What's your name?" but the boy quickly hid his head back in Derek's chest and didn't answer.

Derek just shook his head and held on.

"OK," said Talia quietly, returning her attention to Derek, "Can you tell me what happened? Why is he here?"

She knew Derek could hear that her heart was beating a bit too fast. She knew about the shape-changing abilities of her quarry; she'd read somewhere that it could steal an image from your brain and recreate it in perfect detail. But she trusted her son not to just pick up a random kid in the woods and cling to him like this. And the boy smelt like a normal, if very sad, little boy.

"It tried to take him," Derek whispered. "We have to protect him!"

Talia frowned. The pack had worked hard to keep the creature within the forest to keep people safe, and the people of the town didn't usually wonder around the preserve after dark. This kid looked very young for a runaway. "I need to know everything that happened, ok? Where you found him, what was said, what it did. Can you tell me everything Derek?"

And Derek did, in hurried words and gasping breaths, and never once letting the boy even an inch away from his body. The boy's wrists seemed to be bound with duct tape, but he didn't even seem to care. He was hiding in Derek's body. And Talia had to tell herself there was nothing adorable about actions born of terror. However adorable the two of them looked.

"Ok," she said, "sweetheart, can you tell me your name?"

The little boy whispered a string of syllables that had no business following each other.

"Right, you might have to write that one down for me," she said, "and can you tell me where you live?"

The boy might have answered, except Derek interrupted.

"He can't go home! We have to look after him!"

Derek was so fiercely loving, he often moved Talia to tears.

"Sweetheart, he has his own family," she said, "he can't just move in."

"It's coming back for him! It's coming to take him! We have to make him ours!"

She stroked her son's head, touched by his caring. "We can't sweetheart, he's a human and..."

"So is Dad!" Derek cried, "So are..."

"His family will want him back," said Talia, quiet and firm, like the strong alpha she was. "They love him and need him, Derek, you can't just kidnap him."

Derek didn't give up, "You could make him a..."

"No!" said Talia, much more strongly than necessary. After Derek's dealings with that Paige girl, he should know better than to suggest that. She would have to have a serious talk to him about that. But not now with a human child crying softly in their living room.

"I'm going take you home, sweetheart," she said quietly. "You need to let go Derek."

If anything, Derek gripped harder. "But it's coming back for him! I swore he was mine, I can't let him go."

"Derek," said Talia quietly, "It won't come back for years. And when it does, we'll be here, we'll help protect him. But until then, he has to have a normal life."

She felt strangely guilty about that phrase. She wanted her children to have a normal life, and for the most part they did. She wanted them to go to college and get jobs and partners and their own children, but one day they would have to choose between those things and the Hale legacy. She had a suspicion she knew which one Derek would go for, and she knew she was putting the whole thing off inexcusably now, at least with Laura and probably with Derek too.

"I won't let you!" Derek shouted. He'd never shouted at her like that. "I have to look after him."

Talia looked at him with surprise. She had not been spoken to in such a tone for years, never had anger like that directed at her by someone she loved, and her first reaction was a swelling of her wolf, only tamed by years of focus. She pushed down her urge to force Derek into submission, and tried again. This time she addressed the little boy.

"Sweetheart, who do you live with?"

She was not expecting that question to make the child sob harder.

"It said his mom died," Derek told her, angrily, like she was impossibly unkind to ask such a question.

Talia ignored him, "Do you have a dad?"

The little boy nodded, rubbing tears and snot into Derek's t-shirt.

"And you want to go home to him, don't you?"

The little boy didn't let go of Derek, but he nodded again.

"He doesn't understand!" Derek snapped, "He doesn't get it! When it comes after him, it'll take him! It wanted him so much!"

"Derek…" Talia protested.

"No, he has to stay with us! He has to! I have to look after him! I have to!"

Talia Hale's beautiful son, alive with the urge to protect, with love and emotion, and Talia still hadn't taught him the pain that came with this life of protection. Thank goodness he didn't have to be alpha.

"I'm sorry," she said, "This is for the best…"

"No its not!" Derek protested, "He's supposed to be here, with us!"

But she wasn't even talking about the boy going home anymore. She caught Derek on the back of his neck with her claws. She'd stolen memories from werewolves before, and even once from Derek and Peter when it became clear that the Nemeton had life once more. But this felt different. That last time, Derek knew what was about to happen and accepted it as an order from his mother and alpha, who loved him and wanted the best for him. This time, she really was stealing, forcing him to do her will, and not even letting him know he'd resisted.

"Peter," she said, as Derek started to droop, "Take Derek upstairs please."

The little boy was still clinging, harder and harder to Derek's top with his bound fingers, but Talia had no difficulty untangling them, as Peter rushed forward to take a hold of Derek's drooping form before he could collapse.

"Far be it for me to question our great alpha," he sneered, in the tone he regularly used to question Talia's judgment, alpha or otherwise, "but are you sure this is wise, Talia?"

"Were you hoping we'd kidnap a little boy, Peter?" she replied, more acidly than she intended.

"I merely meant that disguising the truth from Derek against his will might cause problems in the future," Peter said, "He has issues trusting people as it is."

At that moment, the little boy seemed to realize something was wrong with Derek and started screaming too loudly for Talia to argue with Peter now. "Calm down," she said, "it's OK. We'll come and find you before you turn eighteen, and we'll take care of it. Nothing's going to hurt you."

The little boy didn't seem to hear, he was too busy screaming, so she picked him up as easily as other women picked up babies, and carried him out to the car, as Peter took a firmer hold of the now mostly unconscious Derek and half carried him upstairs, where he would have some strange dreams, but wake up none the wiser that he'd ever met a little boy with an unpronounceable name.

"It's OK, I'm taking you home," she whispered to the little boy in her arms. He seemed about the same age as Cora, and she tried to think what that would mean, what she needed to say to calm him. But Cora never got like this; she was grumpy and shrewd. So Talia said "We'll see your Daddy in a minute."

She sat him on the passenger side, and then realized his hands were still bound. She sliced the duct tape with a claw, and pulled it gently from his wrists. His screams had abated to gentle sobs, and she looked at him carefully. It would be better if he didn't remember this either. If he went back home talking about monsters and Derek and having his wrists bound, there would be far more questions than the Hale pack could really answer. So she gently cupped his head and smiled at him. "Can you tell me where you live?" she asked, knowing he was going to be very confused as soon as she'd done what needed to be done.

He whispered a street and a house number, and she smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, "you've been very brave you know," she told him.

The little boy looked at her with wide distrustful eyes.

"It's OK," she repeated. She didn't know how many times she'd said that yet. It wasn't OK. When this little boy turned eighteen, his life would be thrown into turmoil. But that was a long way away yet. "I'll be back before you're eighteen, I promise. I'll make sure no one tries to make you go anywhere."

The little boy's sobs had slowed, but he still looked at her warily. "What did you do to the teenager?"

Talia smiled, "I made sure he wouldn't come after you either."

The boy screwed up his nose, "How can you do that? Are you, like, Dumbledore?"

"Something like that," Talia replied.

"Or are you Voldemort?" he said, coldly.

"Dumbledore," Talia replied, "I promise. I look after this town. And I'm going to look after you, too."

The little boy looked at her with his sad, intelligent eyes, and she realized just how recent his misery was. "We're going home. You'll wake up in your own bed."

"Yeah, I'm not sleeping in your car," said the boy, "I'm not three. And you might still be Wormtail or something."

Talia put his age at about seven or eight. "No," she said, "That's fine."

He cried out when she stole the memories from his mind, her claws sinking into his neck with no warning. He would scar, but he wouldn't remember them, and Talia knew no one would ask her about them because they'd be so small, and he was bound to have other cuts from walking through the woods. And even if they did, she'd just claim ignorance.

He sank into the seat, losing consciousness as the car started. He hadn't woken up when she arrived at his house, which was currently surrounded by deputies and their cars. One man was sobbing in the center, shouting at people. She could hear him telling people to find his son, and others trying to calm him down, and tell him what they'd already done, not to worry. He looked at the face to her side, the little boy deep in sleep. She had done the right thing. He was well loved here. He should be allowed a childhood for as long as he could.

People started turning when she got out of the car, and carried the child back to his father.

…xxx…xxx…

Years later, Derek Hale woke up with the whole story dumped in his head. It was a strange feeling, to suddenly remember such strong emotions, such protectiveness of a stranger. An eight year old who had just lost his mother, miserable and lonely, had run into the woods only to find that the real life monsters he must have had nightmares about were real and terrifying.

Derek's Mom had stolen the memories and now suddenly they were back. Maybe she really had been that clever, that able to control her alpha powers, that there was a timed return to his brain.

He spent the first ten minutes of remembering raging at his mother. How dare she steal something so important? He could have kept in contact with the kid, could have followed him, made sure he was still local, that they could find him and protected him when the time came. And didn't she feel the kid's misery? He needed someone like Derek looking out for him! He was so skinny and fragile and damaged.

And Peter! He'd known, and never mentioned a word.

Or had he? There had been some cryptic statements in there. About his little friends, about his anger. And teenagers. The kid would be a teenager now. Derek's Mom would have checked the date, when he turned eighteen. It was unlikely to be today, but would probably be within the next month or so. And when he turned eighteen, how long would it take for the creature to come after him? Would it come on the day, or would it take months or years? Was there even a hope that it wouldn't come at all? That it would forget, or not care?

And how was Derek even supposed to protect him now? Had the kid suddenly remembered the house in the woods and the boy who tied him up? He was unlikely to just suddenly trust Derek under those circumstances.

A skinny boy, who'd be turning eighteen soon.

With an unpronounceable first name.

Who could be inexcusably mouthy even when he was scared for his life.

Who he felt oddly drawn to and protective over.

Derek realized it was Stiles.

Derek swore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading/commenting/leaving Kudos!
> 
> Apologies for any accidental English slang. x

Stiles was bored.

He was sat in his room, flicking an elastic band between his fingers. Yesterday, his dad had taken all his games and methods of computer gaming away for some minor infringement of house rules. Something about not looking at vital evidence of murder scenes without permission. It was totally unfair. It's not like Stiles purposefully didn't ask permission. He just forgot. That was hardly a crime, was it?

The elastic band sprang off into a corner, and disappeared, and Stiles decided he wasn't going to look for it. He was nearly eighteen. He would find something to do.

He thought about jerking off, but that had been the first four things he did after his Dad had taken the computer. And a significant number of the things he'd done today.

He texted Scott for the hundredth time in the last hour.

He got a reply a few seconds later

'Dude, seriously, on a date!'

'So?' Stiles typed. He considered putting something like 'Bros before hos' but it felt kind of gross and weird to call Kira a ho, when she was actually so great. So he added 'You're always on a date! You need to spend time with the true love of your life – ME'.

Scott's reply took ages, during which time Stiles had discovered five new ways to sit on chairs that no one could possibly have thought of before.

'Dude, I will see you tomorrow. I'm turning the phone off!'

Stiles sent back a sulky 'Some best friend you are!' and dumped it on the desk. He thought about texting Lydia, but suspected she'd be even ruder than Scott.

"My friends are crap," he told the room. The room didn't care.

He saw some sellotape on his desk. He'd used it the day before to re-assemble the notes on the murder scene that his father had destroyed (he hadn't even used a shredder, only torn them up with his hands, so he'd practically invited Stiles to put them back together, and besides, what sort of sheriff didn't shred things?) and now Stiles was very bored. Like, really bored.

He stood his computer chair on his bed and clambered on to it to tape his econ homework to the ceiling.

It didn't look that good, but it was at least funny. And he was intending to blame his father for its unfinished state anyway, so he may as well blame him for the dangling sellotape.

He taped the tape dispenser to the ceiling too. Because it felt ironic. It made him chuckle.

The roll fell out of the tape dispenser and he picked it up, twirling it around his fingers. He felt a bit like a bond villain. The possibilities seemed endless.

He pulled out another strip, and wondered what else could be taped to what.

There was something incredibly tempting about his own wrist.

He put the edge of the tape against the inside, where the veins were closest to the skin. But then his window opened by itself.

"No, nothing!" he cried. He threw the sellotape back onto his bed, and tried to keep his eyes off of it.

"What?" asked Derek as he leaped casually into Stiles' bedroom, as though sneaking into a teenager's bedroom late at night was normal, and wouldn't lead to arrest and his name on a register if he wasn't careful.

Stiles scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual as he stood awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom, and hoped Derek wouldn't notice the sellotape. "I mean, nothing, no, what?"

Derek's eyebrows were really very expressive. "What are you talking about?" he asked, perfectly communicating his confusion and slight annoyance, with just one twitch of his brow.

Stiles scratched his head, "Yeah, this conversation is going nowhere," he said, breezily, "I vote we start again. Maybe with 'Why are you breaking into my bedroom, man of indeterminable age?'"

The tape dispenser fell off the ceiling. With ninja-like precision, (or infuriatingly enviable werewolf-speed) Derek caught it before it hit waist height.

Stiles looked at it, "That… that has nothing to do with the fact that you've climbed into the bedroom of a teenaged boy."

Derek raised his eyebrows, but put the tape dispenser back on the desk without further comment. "Are you OK, Stiles?" he asked, quietly.

"Er, yeah," said Stiles.

"You sure?" said Derek.

"Er, I thought I was until you asked me that," Stiles replied, feeling a bit concerned now.

"OK," said Derek.

He stood, watching Stiles, everything about him still, like a statue of a Greek God, for some reason stood in the center of Stiles' bedroom.

"Er… did you just come by to ask me how I am?" Stiles asked, very confused now, "Because, you know, they invented these things called telephones. They've even got ones you can put in your pocket now, and you can…"

"No!" said Derek, far too quickly.

Stiles raised his own eyebrows, "So… you're in my room because… there's a brand new evil trying to raise hell in Beacon Hills? A rogue wolf? A mythical creature lured here by the nemeton that you have been secretly screwing for the past few months but now someone's pointed out that it's killing people? Because, you know, been there, done that…"

Derek blinked, and his very expressive eyebrows lowered far enough to darken his whole face to the unfriendly state Stiles was used to.

"When did you first meet me Stiles?" he growled.

Stiles scowled back, "Why are you asking me that like you'd ask someone where they were the night somebody's lungs were pulled out through their nose?"

"Just answer the question!" Derek snapped.

"Right, because threats make everybody chatty."

"Stiles!"

"Well, let me think, maybe the same day you met me?"

"Really?" said Derek, "The day you and Scott were wondering around Hale property looking for his inhaler?"

"Er, yeah," said Stiles.

Derek's chin set. "Have you forgotten about how well we hear?"

Stiles' heart definitely crept up then, "Dude, if this is about last night, my Dad had just taken my computer, and there's nothing else to do in here…"

Derek folded his impressive arms and continued to glare, "You knew who I was, Stiles!"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles replied, trying to keep up with whatever the hell Derek was talking about, "I thought everyone knew who you were."

Derek growled, "Stiles, when did you first meet me?"

"Why does it matter?" Stiles protested, and his heart rate crept up further, and Derek could probably smell his deception as he avoided the question.

"When?" Derek repeated.

Stiles raised a placating hand, "Look, dude you really don't…"

"Did you know the whole time?" Derek growled.

"Whoa!" Stiles cried, hands between him and Derek, his ghosts of far too many bruises on his back reminding him not to piss off Derek if he could help it, "Whoa! Whoa! Know what?"

Derek's hands shot forward to Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles repeated his "Whoa!"

"When did you first meet me, Stiles?!" Derek repeated, his fists gripping angrily onto Stiles' shoulders.

"OK, ok!" Stiles replied, "I was there, ok?"

"Where?" Derek growled in his face.

"At your family's house, after the fire. Look, I'm sorry, I was like ten and the baby sitter was sick and Dad was investigating and I was just… you know… looking around."

Derek's face drooped. Stiles carried on talking, because that was his default setting.

"I mean, he told me to stay in the car. He always told me to stay in the car, obviously, but … seriously, dude it was the coolest… I mean the most interesting thing that had ever happened and I was… you know… curious."

Derek was being as infuriatingly hard to read as usual, because, yes, that was a massive invasion of privacy on Stiles' part. But he didn't go for Stiles' throat. But he didn't back off either. So Stiles carried on. Because he was Stiles.

"So, dude, I'm really sorry, if I intruded on your grief or whatever, I just… you know. I'd always wanted to see a crime scene, and, you know before then there never really was anything going on, here, like just a few teenagers daring each other to do shit, and stuff, and … Oh I guess that was because of your pack. Right? Because they looked after the town or whatever … yeah? And then there was this fire and I just… wanted to… see,"

Derek's face was as unguarded as Stiles had ever known it. He still couldn't read it, but it made him stop talking. At least for a moment.

His hands fidgeted. He wasn't sure if he should try to comfort Derek. It would have been hard to tell with a normal person, but with Derek, he probably should go for no. The dude would probably bite his hand off.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry… I just… I'm sorry. When I saw you were there, I left straight away. Went back to the car…"

Derek just stared at him.

"Er… are you… pissed?" He put out a hand, anyway, figuring he might deserve to lose it. "Dude?"

Derek spurred backwards. "If you see anything weird… anything… you call me. Right away."

"Er… sure?" said Stiles.

Derek nodded, jerkily. Then, just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he sprang back for the window.

"Er…"

Derek was gone.

"Bye," Stiles said to the sky outside.

He sat down on his bed, and wondered about whether it was normal for a heterosexual male to be disappointed that this conversation didn't end with him thrown against a wall with an angry werewolf in his face. He fell back on the pillow and looked at the ceiling, feeling shittier about his snooping than he ever had before.

His econ homework fell onto his head.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...  
Stiles was nearly asleep before his phone beeped angrily in his ear. It wasn't particularly late, but with nothing to do but have strange, inexcusable fantasies about Derek Hale taping him to a wall, he'd decided an early night was the only solution. The dreams contained Derek Hale and sellotape too, but at least he couldn't make himself feel guilty over them.

He only took a moment in his sleepy, slightly aroused state to figure out what the beep sound was. With a quick grumble to himself, he grabbed his phone and opened the text. Seeing as it was from Scott, he was expecting some sort of apology from his so called 'best friend' for abandoning Stiles to his boredom while he had his cute, perfect teen date. The douche. It didn't contain anything like that, though.

"Emergency theatre now hurry screen 2"

He read it twice before it made sense. When it still didn't, he figured he'd have to go to figure it out. He jumped out of bed and threw on a few more clothes, and sprinted out of the bedroom. Right into his father's chest.

"Stiles!" his father cried, half in surprise, half anger, "What part of grounded don't you get?"

"Dad!" Stiles groaned, "I got a text from Scott! It said…"

His Dad simply crossed his arms, "I don't care if it said his house is on fire, you don't have the ability to heal fatal injuries and you have school in the morning. You are going to bed."

"Dad!" Stiles protested, "You know Scott hasn't the brain power to solve a crossword! He needs me!"

"Bed!" his Dad repeated.

"But Scott needs me!

"Bed!"

"You didn't answer my..."

His dad interrupted, immovable. "Bed!"

Stiles scowled at him, "Your verbal reasoning skills need development!"

"Go to bed!" his dad said this time, with a tired sigh, "or I will lock you in."

Stiles scowled at him, but turned back up to his room. When he got there, he slammed his door and went straight for the window.

It was a long way down. Scott and Derek could jump it without thinking, but they could drop two stories and not even sprain an ankle. Stiles, a hundred and forty seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, may have once played host to one of the most evil creatures they'd ever met, but he was still unfairly breakable. He was going to have to climb.

He sat on the sill and looked down. "Oh my god," he whispered at the ground so far away.

He lowered himself carefully, until only his hands on the ledge held him up. Then he swung enough to the right that he could grab onto the drain pipe. He very nearly missed it, but caught on and clung, breathing heavily for a moment. He shifted his weight totally onto the pipe, and then he began to shuffle down.

He only fell one storey.

He might have landed on his back, making him even less use in a fight, if it weren't for strong arms that caught him easily.

"Derek!" he groaned, angrily, embarrassed, and confused that the werewolf had been hanging about outside his house since he'd seemed to leave ages ago.

"Not exactly," said the voice behind him.

Peter Hale still had his arms around him. Having protected Stiles from a potentially bone-breaking fall, he'd just kept hold.

Stiles squirmed out of the grip.

"Peter, hey," he said. "And not that I'm not grateful for the whole, limiting of the broken limbs thing, but is there are reason you were here?"

Peter smirked, "Do I need to have a reason for saving teenaged boys from certain death?"

Stiles shuddered at the smirk and general creepiness of Peter Hale. "I think certain injury was what would have happened here, not sure it would have been death, but still, yes, you do need a reason to be hanging around outside an underage boy's house. Pretty sure that would be expected. Particularly by my Dad. You know, the sheriff."

Peter seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole rambling sentence. "Does my nephew need a reason, too?" he asked, apparently a master of deflection, "I did see him climb in and out of your window a little while ago, didn't I?"

"Yes!" Stiles replied, firmly, "Yes he most definitely does. He failed to give me a good one, too."

"Failed to give you a good what, exactly?" Peter smirked.

Face reddening, Stiles said "A good reason for sneaking into my room at night. Obviously."

Peter watched him, gaze calculating, making Stiles wonder if maybe he had something to do with Scott's emergency. After a moment, Peter asked, "So, you are claiming you have no idea what Derek would want with a sixteen year old?"

"Er, seventeen!" Stiles protested, "And actually, I'm eighteen in like two weeks!"

"Fascinating," replied Peter, sounding anything but fascinated, "Well, this conversation has been enlightening. Why don't you run along to whatever little crisis you're off to before you bore me to death?"

Stiles gave Peter the look of contempt the creepy evil bastard deserved, "Because I'm not convinced you don't plan to sneak up to my room and start smelling my underwear drawer?"

Peter sneered, "Ah, teenage narcissism. Because when I follow a relative to the house of a teenager, it must be the teenager that I'm concerned about. It can't possibly be that I care whether my nephew is arrested or not."

Stiles realised that Peter was annoyingly convincing when he wanted be. And condescending. He still pointed out; "Derek left hours ago. Why didn't you just ask him?"

"Well, because if Derek had slept with you, he would never have told me," said Peter, conversationally. "And he's considerably better at lying than you."

Stiles found himself shivering. Not at the thought of Derek, of course, but at the look Peter was giving him, like he was trying to read his soul. And because Peter was a bastard for suggesting Derek might have even wanted to sleep with Stiles. "Well, anyway," he said, "this has been great. Let's never do it again, OK?"

Peter didn't reply, he simply watched Stiles with an entertained gleam in his eye as Stiles stumbled over to his jeep. He still had his phone in his back pocket so he checked it for any more news from Scott, before he started the vehicle quickly and pulled out through the dark streets, vaguely wondering if anyone would mind particularly if he ran Peter over by accident on the way.

He drove to the nearest movie theatre, where he assumed Scott and Kira would have gone. They'd gone on a date. Stiles was looking forward to pointing out the massive error that was, as soon as they were sure no one was dead and saying I told you so became fun again. Well, he'd probably say I told you so anyway, but he was Stiles; it was his job to say stuff like that.

He burst through the doors of the complex and ran up to the screen he knew Scott and Kira were in. An usher tried to stop him, but Stiles dodged past (his lacrosse training finally kicking in at a useful moment). The usher followed him, shouting after him, but they both skidded to a halt as they reached the isle between the seats.

"What the hell?" gasped the usher, and Stiles couldn't help but agree.

There was nothing wrong with the theatre. A few people turned as they arrived, scowled at them through the darkness for interrupting the movie, but there was no fighting, no wolfed out Scott or sword wielding foxes, no creatures, no human sacrifices, just normal people sat in a movie theatre.

"What was that, man?" grunted the usher.

"Er… I just really wanted to catch the end?" said Stiles, "of… er… this movie?"

He glanced at the screen hoping to guess the name of the movie, to help suggest truthfulness, but it was just some people looking soppily at each other. So he added, "Yeah, I love a good romance."

The usher glared, "Tickets are fourteen fifty," he snapped.

"Seriously?" said Stiles, "I've missed the first half!"

"Or I could throw you out," said the usher.

Stiles grumbled a bit but dug into his pocket, finding his wallet. "I've only got a twenty."

The usher smirked, "That'll do." He snapped it up out of Stiles' hand, and strolled off, leaving Stiles to the glares of the theatre-going public around him.

"Hey," he whispered to a nearby woman, "Have you seen…"

"Shh!" hissed the woman, glaring at him angrily.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…"

"Shh!" the woman hissed again.

"But…"

"Shhh!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You know, I'll disturb you less if I find my friend quicker," he mumbled to no one, wondering down the aisle, looking for Scott. Eventually, he saw someone waving at him while trying to be inconspicuous, and going "Sssss, Stiles!"

"Finally!" Stiles hissed back, shuffling along the semi-filled rows toward Scott, who was looking around nervously, and Kira, who was frowning. "What's the big deal? There's like, zero bloodshed, dude. Why did you get me out of bed for this?"

"Look!" Scott hissed, his head jerking around like he was having a fit, as Kira kind of stared into space.

"What am I looking at?" Stiles asked.

"There, look!" Scott repeated, his head still jerking strangely so Stiles decided to check what Kira was actually staring at instead in the hope that would help him a bit more.

The row in front of them seemed to be occupied by a handful of people, mostly looking around at them irritably while trying to watch the movie. Except for one, who wasn't turning; a slim girl, with long, dark, wavy hair, sitting alone a few seats along, and happily watching the movie.

"What?" Stiles repeated. He glanced back at Kira and Scott. Kira was staring, in apparent shock, at that girl, and Scott was looking strained and panic. "What?" he repeated, staring at the girl. Maybe he hadn't noticed fangs or a second head or something. He leant forward in his seat to get a better view, catching a view of her profile to reveal pale skin and delicate features.

Stiles thought that she looked a bit like Allison.

Actually, she looked a lot like Allison. Everything like Allison. Like, even wearing that white shirt and jacket combination from Jackson's party that he remembered because of Scott going on about the jacket in the woods.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

"What do we do?" Scott hissed, panic obvious in his voice.

"Er… nothing?" he said.

"What do you mean nothing?" Scott hissed back at him. "It's Allison!"

"No way. She just looks like Allison, dude," Stiles replied, "Like, a lot like Allison, but… yeah…"

Scott did not look convinced, "Dude, I've spent a lot of time looking at Allison…"

"Yeah, I noticed," Stiles mumbled, rolling his eyes, and feeling Kira squirm uncomfortably beside him.

"And seriously, she doesn't just look like Allison, man; that is Allison!"

Stiles shook his head, "It can't be Allison, Scott, Allison died! You held her as she died!"

"Stiles!"

"It can't be Allison," Stiles interrupted, "she'll turn her head in a moment, and she won't look the same from the other side, and you'll realise she's just another girl with dark hair and pale skin. Look, I'll go check!"

He crept further along the row, apologising to the people he trod on and ignoring Scott's complaints. His feet got stuck to the floor and made gross noises, and the girl who looked like Allison seemed to shift, but Stiles got to her other side with only marginal tuts from other viewers. He reached a spare couple of seats and leaned over those in front to get a better view of the other side of can't-be-Allison's head.

He barely got a moment to look before she turned her full gaze to him.

"Shit!" he hissed with shock and terror.

It was totally Allison. Everything about that girl was Allison. Hair, skin, nose, mouth, eyes, everything. He'd have sworn it was Allison on his life and everyone he cared about's lives too.

"Allison?"

The girl shot out of her seat, and performed some pretty impressive acrobatics to get out of the row. Stiles, in pure shock, was a bit slow to follow. And by the time he reached the far aisle, Scott and Kira had practically run him over.

He picked himself up and followed, not even sure what he was following. Was it Allison's ghost, here to torment Stiles for causing her death, and Scott for moving on? Or was she a zombie with general brain-eating motivations? Or maybe she was like one of the servants of the others from Game of Thrones, part of a massed army of undead poised to invade on their master's orders.

Stiles decided to watch less sci-fi and fantasy in future.

He followed his annoyingly fast moving friends at his own more human pace. The usher seemed far less bothered by him running on his way out of the theatre.

By the time he got to the car park, he could see Scott catching up with the running figure. 'Allison' span back to him just as he was about to grab her, and shoved one hand at his face. He was blown aside, crashing into the side of the building with force. Kira gave up on the chase, instantly, and sprinted to Scott's side, as Allison's eyes met Stiles' across the concrete.

It was looking less like Allison now, its eyes beginning to glow strangely, it's arms and legs growing longer and paler, its whole shape distorting. Stiles' breathing caught with fear. But when it ran, he ran too.

He followed it around the side of the building, ignoring Kira's pleas and knowing she would look after Scott. What he planned to do when he confronted the creature was not really formulated, yet, but he couldn't just let it go. They had no idea what it was, what it wanted, if it planned to wreak havoc or just look like Allison at them until they went mad.

He found himself in an alley between the theatre and the bowling place next door. A girl in a uniform was just opening the door and emerging from the bowling place, looking tired and drowsy, and that was when the creature struck. It jumped on her, pulling her down to the ground.

"Hey!" Stiles cried, "You don't have to hurt anyone, right, I just wanna talk!"

The creature only hissed. Maybe it couldn't talk, in which case Stiles was very curious how it had got past the usher into the movie theatre.

"Let her go," Stiles tried. The girl was dragged unceremoniously to her feet, where she look unsurprisingly alarmed and terrified.

"It's got nothing to do with her, man," said Stiles, "Just let her get back inside and we can…"

The creature snarled. It shoved the girl so hard she flew through the air and landed on Stiles in a heap, knocking them both to the ground. Stiles barely had time to register how much that hurt before his vision went white.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles awoke flat on his back, which felt like a giant bruise, on a cold hard floor, and with a softly groaning young woman in his arms.

"Eugh?" he said. He'd been aiming for 'Are you alright?' or at least 'you OK?' but failed.

The girl whimpered.

"S'OK," he said, though he had no reason to think anything was OK.

He tried to look past the mass of hair in his face to check for the creature who had stolen his dead friend's face and knocked him out, but he couldn't see anyone, and it only took a few moments for familiar feet to sprint down the alley.

"Dude!" cried Scott, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Stiles managed, and aimed for, 'better than you, sleeping beauty,' but his words didn't work. "Girl," he grunted instead.

"Er... hey?" he heard Scott try to the girl, and he must have helped her up because her weight disappeared from Stiles' legs.

"Sorry!" he heard a new voice groan, "I don't know what happened, I think someone grabbed me, but then I was on top of you, and I'm sorry!"

"S'OK'" Stiles managed, slowly sitting up, his head aching from where it had hit the ground a little too fast. "Wesho prob' go ... round... troops."

"Whoa!" Scott cried at him, as the sky moved downwards quickly. Stiles felt a hand grab his shoulder, probably saving his head from a second meeting with the ground.

"Is he OK?" gasped the girl.

"I don't know, we should probably take him to the hospital," Scott told her.

"M'fine," mumbled Scott, "Should tell... D'rek."

"What?" said Scott.

"Tell ... Deerk. Noh Peer, Derrk."

"We're going to the hospital, Stiles," said Scott, in his 'I know best because I'm a true alpha however stupid I am' voice.

"I'll follow you," said the girl, "I should... I feel kind of... responsible."

"Nnnn," Stiles protested. She wasn't responsible, the crazy monster with Allison's face was.

"Dude, I can't believe you just went after it on your own! You should have waited!"

"Nuuuh!" Stiles protested, annoyed at Scott's accusation, but even more annoyed that he couldn't answer it.

"Can I help you get him to your car?" the girl asked.

"Don't worry," said Kira, kindly (Stiles had started to think she'd gone home,) "we've got him."

"Please!" the girl protested, "I'd like to check he's OK. He tried to save me from a mugger."

Which, Stiles supposed in his slightly drowsy state, was as good an explanation as any for someone who didn't believe in bright lights making face-stealing monsters disappear.

"Did either of you see where they went?" the girl asked. "I didn't see."

"No," replied Kira, cautiously.

"They knocked me out," said Scott, "so we were too slow."

"They knocked you out?" gasped the girl, "oh my god, have you got concussion?"

"Nah," said Scott, and Stiles wanted to punch him and his super-fast healing abilities while Stiles was still sprawling in his arms and groaning.

Kira had managed to get Stiles' arm over her shoulder, and now she and Scott were half carrying him back to the jeep. "Watcha doin? Scottcn car me b'sel"

"He doesn't know what he's saying," Scott told the girl. "Confused, you know?"

"No, you werewo..."

"Haha, haha! Yeah Stiles, you mumble away there, all to yourself."

"Huh?"

"Come on, bro, here's your jeep, get in."

"Jeep."

"No, no, passenger side, dude..."

"No, my jep."

"No dude, no driving, come on."

"You no driving jeep!"

"Come on."

Stiles slid into the wrong side of his jeep. It felt wrong. And Scott getting in the driver's seat felt worse.

"It's OK, dude," said Scott, "Kira's bringing the bike."

Which didn't make Stiles feel better.

He grumbled all the way to hospital, where Melissa checked him for concussion, making comments about the pretty girl waiting for him. Which didn't make any sense.

...xxx...xxx...

Derek was brooding.

Which is a totally different to and more grown up than sulking. Whatever anyone might say, however similar those two emotions may look, Derek Hale was brooding. Not sulking.

And he wasn't avoiding anyone. There was no need, because at no point had he let anyone in on his own private, evil, thoughts about shoving Stiles against any flat surface available, and fucking him until he screamed, so at no point was he about to be arrested for said thoughts. Nor would Scott want to beat him up, or would anyone try to guilt trip or ridicule him. It was OK. Stiles was OK, Derek was OK, and Stiles' virginity remained intact, as did his healthy Derek-related fear. Which Derek wanted. Because it kept him out of a prison cell and allegations of statutory rape.

He had a very cold shower the minute he got back to his loft, and definitely at no point did he let himself think of Stiles' wide eyes, fluttering heartbeat and strong but lithe shoulders and slender hands. Stiles was a child who had taped his things to his ceiling for a laugh. Which was not funny. At all.

When he finally emerged from the shower, he was sure he could still smell Stiles. He sniffed. There was another smell, too, a much less appealing, yet equally familiar one.

"Peter?" he called, because it was far more likely that his uncle had snuck into his loft than Stiles had turned up alone. At least, outside of Derek's fantasy world.

Peter didn't bother to actually reply. Because Peter didn't do raised voices to help other people hear him. He rarely raised it at all these days, though Derek remembered him raising it at Talia back when he was a kid.

"Peter?" he called again, when he reached the bottom of his stairs. Peter still didn't reply, and when Derek looked around, he found his uncle watching him from a relaxed position on the couch.

"Why are you here?" he asked, purposefully not asking why Peter smelled of a teenaged boy he regularly described as 'annoying'.

"Just visiting my favourite nephew," said Peter, quietly, with a smirk.

"Why are you here?" Derek repeated, because he may not always have made the smartest moves, but he wasn't that stupid.

"Derek, I just wanted to know how you are doing!" Peter gasped, as though offended at Derek second guessing him, "Is that so bad?"

"Why are you here?" Derek asked again. Because Peter never made social calls.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Really, Derek, I know it is partly my fault that you are so untrusting, but it is not a good quality. You should work on that."

"Why are you here?" Derek repeated again.

Peter made very un-Peter-like, steady and real eye contact "Is that really the question you want to ask, Derek? Really?"

Derek glared. There was a question on his mind, struggling to make its way to the tip of his tongue. But there was absolutely no way he was asking Peter why he smelled of Stiles. No. No way.

Peter's smirk grew wider. "You really have no desire to know why I've been talking to one of your little teenage friends?"

Derek's cheek twitched. "Have you?"

Stupid Peter and his stupid brain, knowing exactly what Derek knew and thought all the time, "Oh, Derek, I know who I smell like. Now, I'm massively curious as to why you have gone so far out of your way not to ask."

"Maybe because I don't care?" Derek sneered.

"Of course," smiled Peter, "and if I came in here smelling of Scott or Isaac, you'd be just as impassive, of course?"

"Stiles is not even a wolf," snapped Derek, "why should I care what he does?"

Peter raised amused eyebrows at him. "And I don't just smell like I've been talking to him. I can smell him, all up my front. He may as well have rubbed against me. I cannot believe you're not even a little bit curious."

Derek heard a low growl. Then he realised it came from him. He didn't mind.

"Oh, now we're getting to some honesty," Peter grinned, "You know, all that compressed emotion isn't good for you Derek. If I were someone you trusted, I really would have suggested a bit of counselling, you know? All that hurt and betrayal and misery, all just bubbling away in there…"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Derek snarled. "Some interesting memories returned to me today."

Peter frowned and put his head to one side, "What memories are those, Derek?"

"About the first time we met Stiles," Derek growled.

Peter hummed and looked convincingly thoughtful for a moment, "At the hospital. I didn't bite him. I let him go. Even later, when I saw how clever he was, when he turned down the bite I still let him go. And I was certainly under the impression that you'd met him before."

"No, I mean the first time!" snapped Derek, "when Mom was alive, we found him in the woods."

And without a flicker in his heartbeat or a tremble in his voice, Peter said, thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, Derek, it's not coming back to me."

Derek glared hard. It was possible Talia had taken Peter's memories as well as his own, but he didn't trust Peter as far as Stiles could throw him. "And you wouldn't tell me if you did, huh?"

Peter's eyes widened, "Derek, I've always acted in what I thought was the best interests of the pack."

"Well, acting in the best interest of the 'pack'," Derek sneered, "Any chance you might know the name of that creature that was after Stiles?"

"Hmm," Peter put his head thoughtfully to one side, "I thought Stiles wasn't part of the pack?"

Derek growled once more, which seemed to do little but amuse Peter. "One day, nephew mine, you must learn to communicate your emotions."

Unable to bear another moment of his uncle's nonsense, Derek rolled his eyes and strolled off.

As if Peter would let him go that easily, "Oh, so you aren't curious where I saw Stiles dashing off to in a hurry, then?"

If Derek hadn't already killed him once, Peter would probably be a bloody mess on the floor by now.

…xxx…xxx…

Apparently Stiles had concussion.

"Yeah, as if you need six years at school and a hundred thousand dollars of debt to tell me that," said Stiles.

"I think it's a mild one though," the young doctor said, "the confusion seems to be passing and there's definitely no impairment to his speech anymore."

"Thanks doc," said Stiles' Dad, before Stiles could say anything about the appropriateness of sarcasm in a doctor.

"I recommend complete rest, and I mean complete rest, no school, no homework, no computers, no cell phones, nothing that will cause mental or physical exertion."

"So me grounding him for the next three years comes with medical approval?" his dad commented.

"Hilarious," said Stiles.

"Well, the concussion itself should pass within a few days," said the doctor, "if you have any further symptoms, please return as quickly as possible. It is important that "Stiles" isn't left alone for long periods of time."

The way the doctor seemed to pronounce the quotation marks around his name made Stiles snort. And almost miss the point of the sentence.

"Hey, what?" he demanded.

"Total rest, Sheriff," said the doctor, ignoring Stiles, and wondering out of the room, apparently to other patients, or possibly to shove his head in an oven, Stiles didn't really care.

"Eugh!" Stiles said.

"Total rest," the sheriff repeated.

"Daaaad!" Stiles moaned.

"You're getting no sympathy from me, kid," his dad told him, "I told you to stay in."

"But Alison was there!"

"Someone who looked like Alison," his dad corrected.

"No! Really, Dad, it was Alison!"

"Stiles!" his dad groaned, "what did you expect to do about it if it was?"

"I don't know!" Stiles replied angrily.

"Then you were stupid, Stiles! Stupid to go in the first place, and even more stupid to follow her!"

"Dad…"

But the sheriff was not letting Stiles get a word in, here, "No. You were stupid, and if you think I'm going to sit back and let you get yourself hurt again, or possessed by another evil creature or killed…"

"Dad, if we don't …"

"Not you, Stiles!" his dad, shouted. "Scott, Derek, Isaac, they all heal, they're all strong and powerful and can be stabbed through the heart and shot and not even need to see a doctor! You are human! I will not let you put your life at risk!"

"Dad…"

"No, Stiles!" His dad's face was red, blotchy, and angrier than Stiles had ever seen it. "That's it. No more Scott, no more supernatural. You just go to school, then you come home, then you do normal stuff, like homework and computer games and … pornography."

"Dad!"

"No! That's my final word, Stiles! No more!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, and let his head drop back onto the pillow. His dad could order whatever he wanted, Stiles was hardly going to listen.

But his dad wasn't completely stupid, "And I'll be talking to Scott and Derek about it too. I'm sure they'll agree with me."

Stiles gave his dad a final glare. But there was no way Scott would listen to the Sheriff. Scott needed Stiles and he knew it. He turned to Stiles about everything. And Derek had done the same more than often enough.

"Just the man!" his Dad cried, suddenly.

Stiles turned to the door and saw Derek walk in, face dark and body stiff. He was glaring at Stiles with his usual hatred, and Stiles felt a surge of relief that Derek was never going to insist on Stiles say safe. He would never care whether Stiles was alive or not.

"Did you hear what we were talking about?" Stiles' dad asked.

Derek nodded, coldly, eyes still glued to Stiles.

"Talk some sense into him, Derek," said the sheriff, "please. I'm worried about him."

Derek nodded again, and Stiles' dad gave Derek's shoulder a squeeze, before excusing himself.

Stiles folded his arms. "Yeah, don't worry. No way I'm leaving the safety of this town to Scott, you and your creepy uncle megalomaniac."

Derek merely glared.

So Stiles said, "My dad's just worked up. He'll get over it."

Derek folded his arms. "I told you to call me if you were in danger, Stiles."

"Er, I wasn't in danger," said Stiles, "well, until, you know, I was unconscious. But that was only for like, a second…"

"Your dad's right Stiles," said Derek, "You put yourself in too much danger."

"So do you!" Stiles protested.

"But I heal!" said Derek, "You're breakable."

Stiles folded his own arms right back, "I'm the only one of the lot of you with a brain!"

"Stiles…" Derek began, but Stiles wasn't about to let him pretend they wouldn't all be dead if it wasn't for Stiles.

"I'm the one who figured out about the human sacrifices! I was the one who figured out how to stop the nogitsune."

Derek's eyes flashed, "And you are the one who nearly died."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, "Like you did when I was holding you up in the pool that time?"

Derek sighed, "That was when Scott didn't trust me. We're a pack now. I can't let you put yourself in danger, Stiles."

"Oh come on!" Stiles shouted.

"You need to get better, Stiles," Derek told him, assuredly. "Go to school, get a good job, and forget about all this. Stay away from anything that isn't normal. It's too dangerous."

"No way!"

"You're not a wolf, Stiles. You're not part of the pack, and you're never going to be."

"Derek!" Stiles protested, feeling worse than he had all night, including waking up with a concussion. Actually sick to his stomach.

"If you see anything unusual, anything that might not be normal, you walk away from it!" Derek instructed in a voice that allowed no argument. "You got that? You walk away, run if you must, and you call me."

Stiles tried to pretend that this didn't feel like someone was tearing his heart open, "Seriously?" he grunted.

Derek was merciless, "You stay away from pack business. The second you see anything unusual, you call me."

"Scott will…"

"I don't care," Derek snapped. "You're a human. Stop pretending you're anything else."

Stiles was momentarily speechless.

Derek shifted uncomfortably.

"Get well soon," he mumbled. Then he strolled off, back out of Stiles' room. Leaving Stiles alone in a hospital and feeling like shit.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

Derek wanted to go home and chain himself to his apartment somehow so he would not be able to go back and beg for Stiles' forgiveness. And more.

The teenager had looked so forlorn at Derek's words that every bone in Derek's body wanted to wrap him up tight in his arms, and protect him from the world. Derek had to remind himself that he was doing this to protect Stiles from the real evil things in the world that really could kill him. If Stiles avoided anything supernatural, he was less likely to be hurt, which was, at the end of the day, the thing that mattered the most.

He could avoid Stiles for a while. Scott and the sheriff would undoubtedly be sticking to him like glue for a while, looking out for him and caring for him, so it would be easy to keep away. Totally easy. Stiles would be safe. Derek had no reason to visit him

"Hey Derek," the Sheriff greeted, as Derek was trying to sidle out of the hospital without being noticed, "How did it go?"

In lieu of saying 'I think I just tore out your son's heart with my bare hands,' Derek settled for a shrug.

The sheriff sighed. "Maybe I overreacted."

Derek didn't reply. He didn't want to point out that he was pushing Stiles away from the pack and the supernatural for his own reasons. He thought for a moment about confiding in the sheriff about the creature. Maybe, if they were all on their guard… but maybe what? They could see the creature coming? It had taken no pains to hide its presence from Talia last time. No, telling the sheriff would only terrify him. Or not. 'There's something after Stiles. I don't know what or if it'll ever show or if it was just winding me up.' The Sheriff's belief had come a long way over the past few years, but that far? Was there any way of telling the story and making it sound rational?

And as for telling Stiles the truth, there was no way. The kid was seventeen and had been through enough. He didn't need to know he was possibly the next victim of… well, who knew what? Derek wasn't even sure what it wanted Stiles for. A sacrifice? A companion? Food? Entertainment? A sex slave?

"Is it possible that we've got a zombie Allison on our hands, Derek?" the sheriff asked, with his 'dear God, please don't let this be true,' expression.

"I'll look into it," said Derek.

"Thanks, Derek," said the sheriff, "and, I'm sorry to ask, but I need another favor."

"Yeah?" said Derek. Sniffing out the culprit or something would probably be a good distraction.

Stilinski ran a tired hand over his face, "I don't want to leave Stiles alone for a while, but I've got to go into the station eventually, and Scott's got school and I was wondering if maybe you could spend a couple of hours with him tomorrow? Just to make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anything."

"What?" Derek snapped.

The sheriff didn't seem to think this was anything unusual to ask, "Just, make sure he's not jumping out of windows or, you know, starting an international incident or something. You know. Like babysitting but with better conversation. Well, I say better conversation… maybe I mean, more complex conversation? Or less sensible conversation. I don't know."

Words stopped working for Derek. "Why would… why… me?"

The sheriff shrugged, now slightly awkward, "I just thought, you know, with you not … I mean, I have to go to work, Melissa too, and the kids all have school and… I mean, if you're busy, just say, but… you know…"

Derek blinked and tried to think of an excuse.  "I should really go check out the scene," he said, "look for… whatever it was."

"Yeah, and I appreciate it," the sheriff told him, "but will that take all day? I mean, when we were looking for Stiles, you just stood on that roof and told us everything he was thinking…"

Derek frowned. He'd just ordered Stiles to stay away from him and anything the pack was up to. He'd ripped everything that made Stiles light up away from him, and Derek hadn't been able to stand that gaze of hurt for a full minute. How could he survive hours?

"It would really help us out, Derek," said the sheriff. "I've been pushing the boundaries on leave for years with that kid, ever since …" Stilinski's face scrunched up a moment in pain, "well. I can't take any more if I can help it."

Derek nodded, jerkily. He understood the expression on Stilinksi's face. Derek used the same one whenever he got close to talking about his family but couldn't actually get there. But Stilinski didn't take it as understanding. He took it as agreement.

"Thanks, Derek. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Derek's eyes widened, but somehow he couldn't take it back. After all, he couldn't leave Stiles all alone when the boy was concussed and possibly in enormous danger. So Derek nodded again, and strode off into the darkness. He had some sniffing to do, and a zombie Allison to trace. He sent a quick text to Scott, asking for the details, and waited in his car for the reply, trying to avoid anyone else, and the thought of Stiles' disappointed eyes.

...xxx...xxx...

Stiles felt like he was only sat alone in his hospital room for a few minutes before there was a gentle, nervous tapping on the door. It might have been longer, but being more furious and bitterly disappointed than you've ever been can make time meaningless.

"Hi?" said a girl's voice from the other side of the door. "Can I... you know... come in?"

"Er..." Stiles checked he wasn't displaying anything he shouldn't be in his hospital gown, "Yeah."

"Thanks," said the girl's voice, and a girl appeared at the foot of Stiles' bed.

"Er, hi?" she said, nervously biting her lip.

"Hi," said Stiles back, waiting for her to explain her business.

The girl laughed, nervously, and pointed at herself, "Sorry, I'm, er, Chloe."

Stiles looked at her quizzically. "Hi, Chloe, I'm..."

"You're Stiles!" said Chloe, then she laughed and blushed. "Sorry, I just meant that I know, you know? I've just been sat out there for a few hours. Not in like, a stalker way, obviously, I just ... I didn't want to leave until I knew you were alright. I mean, I know your dad was here, and your... tall, angry friend, but... I just... you know?"

Stiles stared at her a moment longer, "Er, sorry, Chloe, I... who are you?"

"Oh!" gasped Chloe, looking thoroughly alarmed at the question, "Sorry! I'm... my name is Chloe, I work at the bowling alley..."

It clicked in Stiles' brain, and he wondered why his brain had gotten so slow. Then he decided it was because of the concussion, "Oh you were..."

Chloe nods and interrupts, nervously, "Yeah, I was just going on a break and someone, you know, grabbed me, and then I was on top of you and giving you a concussion and... I'm really sorry, Stiles. Really!" Chloe wrung her hands, worriedly, "I never would have landed on you on purpose! It was all too fast, I didn't know what was happening, and then I was on top of you and you were hurt and..."

"Hey, hey, it's OK," said Stiles, interrupting because he feared for Chloe's word to breath ratio, "not your fault."

Chloe didn't seem to hear. Or she just couldn't stop the flow now she was going. "And that nice nurse with all the hair, you know, she said you had a concussion, and I felt awful and..."

"It's not your fault," Stiles repeated, "really. Trust me on that."

"I'm just... sorry," the girl added, lamely, stepping sideways uncertainly and knocking over a chair. "Sorry!" she added, picking it up again, and looking at him with mild panic. "And thank you!" she added, hurriedly. "For, you know, running after the mugger. I thought it was very brave."

"Yeah, my dad says it was stupid," said Stiles. It still stung a little.

"Ah, he's just worried, because he loves you," said Chloe, "And do you not have a mom?"

"She died," said Stiles, "Years ago. Don't worry, I'm not gonna start crying or something."

"Yeah, mine too," said Chloe. "And I cry about it a lot, so, you know, you don't need to pretend for me."

"Oh," said Stiles, feeling both a strange sense of companionship and a little awkward, "it sucks, doesn't it?"

Chloe laughed, sadly, "Yeah, totally sucks," she said. "But I got my grandma and my dad, they're great. I just meant, it'd make your dad worry more, you know? Having lost someone so important already."

Somewhere inside, Stiles knew this. And he'd started down that thought process himself plenty of times. But that didn't mean he had to hide from the world in case he got scratched. "Yeah, my dad's awesome," said Stiles, "when he's not grounding me forever for no good reason."

Chloe smiled, "He seemed really nice." She suddenly widened her eyes, "I mean… not in a, god your dad's hot, way. I mean, not that he isn't hot, I mean for his age he's very… I mean of course he isn't hot, I don't find him hot, I just mean…"

Chloe was as red as a beetroot, and didn't seem able to look at Stiles, but Stiles was laughing. This girl was awesome. She had Stiles' foot in mouth disease.

"It's OK, I get it," he said, with a grin. "Well, I don't get it, I mean, that would be weird, but it's cool. You're allowed to have a thing for my dad."

"Oh my god!" cried Chloe, and she hid her face in her hands. Stiles could only laugh again. It was adorable.

"Don't worry," Stiles repeated, "I say stupid things sometimes, too."

Chloe peeked at him through her fingers, "How long does it take you to live down the embarrassment?"

"I prefer to learn to live with it," Stiles confided, "If you do it enough, eventually you don't just cope, you actually begin to revel in it."

Chloe laughed. "Oh my god! I'm so embarrassed. I was only going to ask if I could ... you know... thank you, or something? I was thinking maybe... coffee?"

"Er..." Stiles was momentarily speechless. Years of blindly adoring Lydia followed by months of never-to-be-mentioned-ever-even-to-best-friend fantasies of older men who happened to be werewolves made being actually asked out by a nice girl a very unexpected turn of events.

"I mean, I think I might be a couple of years older than you, but it's only coffee, and I thought, maybe, you know, you might score some bragging rights? Or something? Not that I think I'm some sort of catch, obviously, I don't mean you'd be bragging about me, like that, obviously, I just thought... I don't know what I thought. Forget it. It was a stupid idea. You probably have a line of beautiful girls who can't wait to get into your pants. Not that I think you're some kind of man slut, obviously, I mean, I bet you turn away lots. Not that you're a tease! No, I mean… Look, I'm just turned twenty one, so I have ID. I could just buy you alcohol! Except, don't tell your dad I said that."

"Chloe, we can go for coffee," said Stiles.

Chloe was looking completely terrified now, "Really? I didn't scare you off? Even when I accidentally called you a man slut?"

"Not even a little bit," said Stiles, "You know I'm seventeen, right?"

"Oh," said Chloe, "Er... that's younger than I thought. But... it's only coffee, right?"

"Right," said Stiles.

Chloe fidgeted with the edge of the chair she'd knocked over, "I mean, I can buy you coffee, it doesn't mean you have to sleep with me or... I mean, no one has to sleep with anyone. We're just two new friends, going for coffee, because one saved the other from a mugger."

"So, I'm eighteen in less than two weeks," said Stiles, carefully.

"Oh," said Chloe, a very different type of 'oh' this time. Far more positive. "That's... cool. Er... do you want my number?"

"Sure," said Stiles.

They swapped numbers, with only minimal social embarrassment on either side this time, and then Melissa came in and ushered Chloe out, claiming that Stiles needed sleep. Stiles disagreed. The last thing he wanted to do was analyze how, even as a pretty girl had asked him out for coffee, all Stiles could think of was trying to piss off Derek Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day! x


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles' dad took him home from hospital the next day. Stiles wasn't talking to him because he had been a dick the day before. More than once. He had basically held up a huge sign saying 'I don't trust you, Stiles,' and then told Derek to do the same thing, so Stiles saw no reason to be nice to him.

"You OK, kid?" his dad kept asking.

Stiles didn't reply. He just stared out of the window of the cruiser, arms folded.

"So, I guess you're looking forward to sleeping in your own bed, huh?" his dad said in his companionable voice.

Stiles didn't reply.

It was really hard. He had so much he wanted to say, so many sarcastic responses. He was actually biting his lips.

His dad shifted in the driving seat, "You eaten?"

Stiles just about managed to hold in a response about hospital food and vomit.

"Huh," said his dad, "not talking to me."

"Obviously," said Stiles.

His dad smirked, and Stiles stropped a bit more.

"I get it," his dad said, "you're mad that I've grounded you."

Stiles refused to answer that. That was just stupid. Grounding was nothing like the problem here.

"Do you see why I was angry, Stiles?"

"Because you're being stupid!" Stiles replied.

"Stiles," said his dad, voice warning,

"Sorry, but it's true!" Stiles told him, "I basically went for a run and fell over!"

His dad sighed, "Stiles, you were possessed by an ancient Japanese demon."

"Not recently…" Stiles protested.

"Stiles! I'm your father, I'm allowed to worry about you," his father argued, frustratingly reasonably.

But Stiles wasn't ready to be reasonable. He gave his father his best glare, "Seriously? You're the sheriff! There are literally songs about you getting shot!"

"I'm not going to get shot," said his dad.

"And I'm not going to get possessed by an ancient Japanese demon, again!"

"Stiles!"

"Dad!" Stiles mimics.

"Just… just…" The sheriff sighed, sad and tired, "Just stay home today, stay out of trouble, let yourself get better, and we'll have a chat about this when we've both calmed down, OK?"

"You calm down," Stiles muttered.

"Stiles!"

They pulled into their drive, and Stiles leapt out.

The sheriff rolled his eyes at him, "Stiles, you're recovering from concussion! Slow down!"

Stiles walked the rest of the way to the door in slow motion.

His father played him at his own game and walked into the house letting the door shut behind him.

"Dad!" he groaned, making the rest of the journey to the steps in three strides. His dad opened the door, but didn't bother checking if he followed him in. "Go to bed," the sheriff called from the kitchen, and, after reminding himself that his dad was probably only trying to look out for him, Stiles obeyed. Except he'd been asleep most of the night, but for the few times he was woken by nurses, so he was not at all sleepy. He stared at the ceiling and thought about the monster with Allison's face.

A zombie had sprung to mind already. Except it had been a good few months since Allison died, and Stiles didn't want to think of the state her body would be in now. But the creature he'd met hadn't smelt. She'd been sat in a movie theatre surrounded by people who hadn't thought anything was wrong.

So, what did that leave? Any hope that he'd had that Allison somehow hadn't died, or was somehow haunting the movie theatre had fallen apart when she'd dashed Scott against a wall and thrown an innocent bystander at Stiles. So he was going with some sort of shape shifter. Something that could take on the face of someone who had died. Like The First from Buffy.

He needed the computer. He had to research, to check out the bestiary. Except his dad still hadn't given back the computer. When everyone had calmed down and started looking at this like reasonable human beings again, he'd have to somehow get access to the bestiary on his phone. In the meantime…

He text Lydia.

"Any luck on creatures that can steal faces?"

It took a few minutes for her to reply. He'd spent the entire time staring at the screen of his phone, open on the text conversation.

"Concussions happen when your head is hit hard enough that your brain moves inside your skull. Rest."

Stiles moaned to himself about Scott and his far too quick communication, and replied to Lydia: "Come on! I'm basically fine, they're just being over-cautious."

Lydia's reply took less time.

"And I'll tell you what I find out tomorrow. Rest."

"Lydia, please!" Stiles tried.

"No," Lydia replied.

"Lydia, you are the most incredibly…" he started typing.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Lydia texted before he had finished, before sending one more text saying just "Rest."

Stiles rolled his eyes, and threw his phone down on the bed to stare angrily at the roof once more.

He'd barely been there a minute before his dad's head popped around the door,

"Stiles, I've got to go to the station, you gonna be OK?"

He tried not to look pleased by that, or like he was planning escaping and or searching for his computer the second his father was gone, "Yeah, sure," he said, casually as he could manage.

His dad didn't fall for it. "Yeah, don't get too excited. I've got a friend popping in to check on you later."

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles sighed. Of course. It would probably be one of the old ladies down the street, or maybe Melissa on her way home from a shift.

"No computers, so television, no reading, no school work, no physical exercise and no investigating the supernatural while I'm gone."

"Oh my god! What am I even supposed to do all day?!" Stiles cried.

"Rest," said his dad, "I love you, son."

"Love you too," Stiles replied, sulkily. Because they had promised each other they would never leave on an argument. And he did love his dad.

But he was bored before he even heard his dad leave the house.

He lay still for another few minutes, fidgeting. How did people who didn't work or go to school pass the time? He was bored stupid already.

He thought about what Derek would be doing. As far as Stiles could tell, the guy didn't' have a job. Maybe he considered looking grumpy a full time profession, after all, he'd got it down to a fine art. Or maybe he just hung about his loft, working on his already perfect abs. Not that Stiles looked at his abs, obviously. That would be weird.

Nope, he never stared at Derek's ridiculously spectacularly physique. Not just because of the obvious and serious damage such an activity would cause to his already practically extinct sense of self-esteem (he was a pale and skinny guy, he did not need thoughts of perfect muscles haunting him all the time) but also because of the equally obvious and serious heterosexual, totally-and-completely-in-love-with-perfect-genius-red-headed-girl-his-own-age-since-they-were-in-third-grade nature of his own thoughts which had no interest in the perfect muscles of other men.

Stupid perfect muscles, that Stiles never, ever, ever felt the urge to bite.

Seriously Derek's muscles were scary. Who had muscles like that outside gay porn? Or a prison movie? Derek didn't even need them! He was a frigging werewolf! He was ten times as strong as anyone else, even if he didn't spend twelve hours a day working out.

This trail of thought should have taken Stiles onto thinking about all the dangerous people they'd met, and how Derek had need every muscle to fight for them and the people that mattered to them.

Instead he kept thinking about how much stronger Derek was than him. Those biceps, triceps and shoulders could lift Stiles without breaking a sweat. Derek could throw him around like a rag doll. He could pin him…

Stupid, treacherous, confused penis. It was supposed to be Lydia in a swimsuit that made it react like that, not Derek come-and-go-eyebrows Hale! That was how it had always been before. None of this finding men hot crap. He never wanted Jackson to pin him to a flat surface! Never wanted Danny's tongue down his throat. Much.

So Derek Hale glaring down at him as he shoved him forcefully against a wall was not appropriate fantasy material. No. Never,

Why didn't his stupid penis agree?

He was frigging cursed!

He imagined Derek Hale throwing him against a wall.

'What are you doing here, Stiles?' he would growl, one step from wolfing out.

'Saving your ass!' Stiles would reply, smug even as his heart raced. Because he was always saving their stupid werewolf asses.

'You could have gotten yourself killed!' Derek would growl.

'Like you care!' Stiles would sneer back.

Derek would be so pissed he'd only be able to growl at that. Animalistic, and raw and sexy as hell.

'Admit it, you'd have been fucked without me!' Stiles would sneer, with un-Stiles-like confidence and poise, that he was totally allowed to have in his own fantasies.

And Derek would lose it and drag Stiles off the wall.

'Get off!' Stiles would shout.

'I can't let you get hurt!' Derek would growl.

'What are you gonna do?' Stiles would demand, unable to resist that strength, knowing that he was a Derek's mercy.

Derek would shove him down onto his own bed, pull out some duct tape. 'I'm gonna keep you where I can always know you're safe,' he'd reply.

And, God, Stiles was gonna have to tie himself to the bed again, because this fantasy…

He groped around the table for the sellotape from the other night. He found it soon enough, and made a loop around his left wrists, then another about his right.

He would squirm as Derek wound the tape around his wrists. And then Derek would stop and stare. Then he'd put a gentle hand on Stiles' face, meet Stiles' gaze with those intense sad eyes of his, except for a moment his sadness would be eclipsed by something else.

Stiles' mouth would go dry, and he'd have to lick his lip carefully, and ask 'What are you doing?'

Derek's face would get closer and closer, his eyes dropping down to Stiles' lips. 'Stiles,' he'd whisper.

'Derek,' Stiles would gasp back.

Derek would run a strong hand through his hair. "What are you doing?"

No wait, that wasn't right. Derek would lean forward and say…

"Stiles? Stiles! What are you doing?"

Stiles opened his eyes.

Derek Hale was in his bedroom.

"Holy…" Stiles shouted, and sprang from the bed. Or would have if his pants weren't around his knees.

"Fuck!" he shouted as he dropped gracelessly to the floor. He shoved his hands out to steady his fall, but they were wrapped in sticky tape, so he ended up rolling over until he landed in a messy heap with his face against the carpet.

"Shit," he added when he came to a stop. Then tried to style it out. "Hey Derek," he said, then blew some carpet fluff off his lower lip. "I was just … er… practising escapology."

Derek didn't say anything. He just stared at Stiles.

"You know," said Stiles, "in case I get captured by some… sellotape wielding… pant monster…"

Derek stared.

"So… what are you doing here?" Stiles asked, still lying on the floor, still trying to pretend like this was not the most humiliating experience of his life.

"Your dad asked me to drop in to check on you," said Derek, coldly.

"Right," said Stiles, "course, because of the old… head… stuff…"

Derek didn't seem keen to talk more. So Stiles continued.

"So this escapology stuff, it's not as…"

Derek turned around and left the room.

"Yep," said Stiles, "that's… yep…"

He rolled over. The ceiling was too far up to knock himself out with. The floor refused to swallow him up.

"I'll just… get myself unstuck," he told the ceiling.

Derek didn't reply.

....xxx...xxx...

Derek had nearly walked straight out the door before his brain had started working again. What the hell had he just seen?

A rational part of his brain told him exactly what he had seen. And it was not a kid practising escapology. It was a beautiful young man having a fantasy in which the word 'Derek' fell from his lips.

Or had it? There were probably other words which sounded like Derek that he might have misheard. And he was hardly the only Derek in the world. Was there a character in some TV show called Derek? Or was there a baseball player too? Or maybe it wasn't Derek, maybe it was another word, like thick? Quick? Mick? There were loads of possibilities. Though, he did have pretty amazing hearing.

He'd only gone in because he thought Stiles had called him. He'd knocked on the front door, let himself in with the key Stilinski had left for him, and called up. He'd been certain he'd heard his name, so he'd gone in without knocking. Only to find Stiles, eyes closed, face dreamy, body stretched out…

He was going to need a cold shower if he thought about that again.

But he couldn't leave. Stiles might decide to follow him. Or throw himself out the window from embarrassment (like he could be more embarrassed than Derek right now!). He'd agreed to look after Stiles, so look after Stiles he had to do.

Well, agreed might be overstating it. Managed insufficient protests at the idea of looking after Stiles might be closer to reality. But that didn't change the fact that Stiles was recovering from a head injury, and Derek had let the Sherriff think he was keeping an eye on him.

He hoped he could interpret that as being in the same house.

As he took a very un-relaxed pose on the couch in the living room, he heard Stiles scrambling down the stairs, and winced a little at the sheer potential for more danger if the kid didn't learn to walk properly soon.

"Hey, Derek," said Stiles, not quite making eye contact as he lunged into the living room doorway. "So… thanks for coming over and everything, but I don't need a… babysitter. I bet you got lots to do. You don't need to … hang around."

That probably made it less likely that the word he'd heard had been Derek, but didn't change the facts.

"Your dad asked me to stay with you," he told Stiles, also not quite making eye contact.

"Weeell," said Stiles, drawing out the word in a would-be playful way, "you know my dad, he worries. No reason. I'm fine. Demonstrably fine. Look, no new head injuries."

Derek snorted. He'd got very close to one a few moments ago while doing the relatively simple task of coming downstairs.

But Stiles either didn't hear or ignored him, "So, no need to hang about. You go… do… whatever it is you usually do when we're at school. Hang around outside it, or something…"

"Your dad asked me to stay with you," Derek repeated.

"Seriously?" said Stiles.

Derek nodded.

Stiles made some huffing and sighing noises. Maybe he thought about other arguments he might use to persuade Derek to leave. But he gave up soon enough and crashed down on the other end of the couch.

There were a few minutes of awkward silence.

"So, what we gonna do?" Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. He'd tried to think of that on the way over, but failed.

"Because, you know, I can annoy you to death, you know," said Stiles.

Derek couldn't answer that without giving himself away, so he just glared at Stiles.

"Yep," said Stiles happily, "I can literally talk until your ears fall off."

Derek frowned hard because otherwise he might laugh.

"Judging me with your eyebrows won't help, you know," said Stiles, "I'm assured I'm very annoying."

Annoying. Stiles should be very annoying. Maybe he had been when he was sixteen, before Derek had realized how funny he was, before he'd become the spark of light in Derek's dark and miserable world. No way was he about to call Stiles' bluff, but he would never annoy Derek to death, he could only talk him into smiling. Or worse.

Derek scowled a bit more to make up for it.

Stiles turned on the couch until he was facing Derek, on his knees with obvious energy that Derek knew meant he wasn't stopping any time soon, "Yep, I can sit here and talk to you about nothing until you want to chop your ears off. Which wouldn't help, because they'd probably just grow back again, what with whole werewolf super-healing thing, and then I'd still be talking, and you'd have to chop them off again. I think it would just get messy after that. You'd be stuck in an ongoing cycle of horrible pain and there'd be ears all over the floor, and I'd still be talking…"

"Stiles," Derek snapped, "why are you talking about chopping ears off?"

Stiles shrugged, "You know you need to give it up, right? I'm gonna get my way."

"What?"

Stiles looked at him stubbornly, "So, I've ruled out zombie Allison, how far did you get?"

"Stiles!" Derek groaned.

Stiles crept closer, gesticulating with his hands, "Because zombies that old would be smelly, right? But it can't actually be Allison but ghostly or something because no way would Allison try to brain Scott like that, or throw some innocent girl at me, so I'm thinking some sort of face changing monster…"

Face changing monster, sounded far too close to home for Derek. "I'm not discussing this with you Stiles…"

Stiles didn't seem to care, "So, there's this bird, right, that can mimic other birds. Like perfectly. It's called they lyrebird, and it can even sound like a chainsaw and a cell phone, because it can make any sound it hears. So maybe there's some creature like that? Like they can copy someone's face so well that even former boyfriends who spent hours mooning over said face believe it actually is that person. Only, Google isn't up on what mythical creatures are actually real and what aren't, so…"

Derek shook his head, "I told you to stay away from this, Stiles!" he growled.

Stiles snorted, "Yeah, like that was gonna happen! So have you been to the alley? What did you smell it? Could you trace it? Scott's being all 'I'll tell you when you haven't got concussion,' but seriously, do I sound like I have a concussion? Do I look like I have a concussion?"

"Stiles!" Derek growled, "Listen to me!"

Stiles was unfazed, "Er, if you try and ban me from investigating the supernatural stuff in this town again, just remember, it won't work."

"I'm not going to let you…" Derek began

"Ha!" Stiles cried, "As if it's your choice! Last time I looked, Scott was the alpha, and he comes to me when he doesn't know what's going on, which is pretty often, if you haven't noticed. I know you hate me, but you're just gonna have to get used to me being around. I'm working on this whether you like it or not."

Derek's eyebrows flew up at that. "I don't hate you," he said, without thinking.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Yeah, alright, so you think I'm an annoying little shit, but I'm a clever annoying little shit, and Scott needs me, which means you need me."

Derek should not be impressed by Stiles right now. He should just be annoyed. But no, he was impressed and concerned and nothing else.

"We'll deal with it," Derek said.

Stiles actually scoffed at him, "What, you'll go in all wolfed out, do the whole fangs and sideburns and missing eyebrows thing, and attack something you don't even know the name of? Yeah, that'll work."

Derek prickled, "I can read a book, Stiles."

Stiles' limbs flew around to emphasize his points, "And I'm not saying you can't, but I figured out that Scott was a werewolf before he did…"

Derek scoffed back at Stiles. 'Cleverer than Scott' was a poor argument. But Stiles wasn't done.

"And I saved your ass with Peter and with Jackson! And I figured out about the sacrifices before any of you!"

"Stiles!" Derek protested, "I don't want you getting hurt."

"What, because the rest of you are invincible?" Stiles snapped, "Come on, Derek! You're being totally unfair!"

"Unfair?" snapped Derek, "How old are you, five?"

"No, I'm turning eighteen in like a week and a half, which only adds to my point that…"

"What?" Derek demanded. Less than two weeks?

"My point that I'm…"

"No. You're turning eighteen?" Derek interrupted.

"Yeah, I'll be able to vote and join the military and everything. Seriously, if I'm old enough to go get shot…"

"Stiles…" Derek started. He knew Stiles would hear the fear and worry in his voice, but he had no way to stop it or disguise it. Less than two weeks before Stiles turned eighteen and Derek had not worked out what was coming for him.

"What?" said Stiles, face finally flickering with doubt, "what's wrong?"

Derek didn't know where to start.

Stiles shuffled closer, "Seriously, Derek, you look like I've just told you your girlfriend's dead. I mean, shit, sorry, that was stupid, I don't mean that, I just mean… I mean, why do you look so … well, not sad, you always look sad, but… you know…"

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no idea what to do now. Should he tell Stiles the truth? Stiles' restless hand fumbled for Derek's arm, and Derek stared at Stiles' face. He imagined that face distorting with fear as Derek told him about the creature. Then he imagined that face being broken by the creature itself. He couldn't bear either.

"Stiles…"

A harsh buzzing sound jangled at them. Stiles looked a little confused for a moment, maybe realizing how close to Derek he was now sitting. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, then started fumbling in his pockets. It took him a few attempts to pull out his cell phone. "Oh, it's Chloe, sorry, I… Chloe." He pressed the accept button and then started talking to 'Chloe.'

"Hey, Chloe… nah, I'm off school, got head injuries… no, that wasn't, I'm not trying to get at you… seriously… nah, if I'd known a little bump on the head would have got me out of chem, I'd have done it months ago…. No… no, really…"

Stiles was grinning. Derek stared. Who the hell was Chloe?

"Er… yeah, sure… no, that's a great idea. Really. I'd love to…"

Love to what? Derek's eyes were glued to Stiles and his stupid grinning face.

"Really? Yeah, sure… nah, it's just me and some guy my dad asked to babysit me… you know, since I bumped by head…"

Some guy? Derek was just some guy?

"Nah, he won't want to come," Stiles suddenly turned to Derek, "Er… you won't want to come, will you?"

Derek glared, "Come where?"

"Er… for coffee with me and Chloe…" Stiles said.

"Who…" Derek held in 'the hell' "is Chloe?"

"Er… a friend?" said Stiles

"A friend?" Derek repeated, "From school?"

"No," said Stiles.

Derek glared at him. Surely if he glared enough, Stiles would volunteer actual information on who 'Chloe' was and why the hell Stiles was planning to have coffee with her.

"So, I'll take glowering silence as your way of saying, 'Sure, Stiles, I'm cool with this,' so, yeah," he went back to the phone, "yeah, sounds great. When?"

Derek glared harder.

"Awesome, I'll be there… great… thanks Chloe. Bye Chloe, bye," Stiles took the phone from his ear and ended the call. "So that was Chloe."

"Who is Chloe?" Derek repeated, slowly, as though talking to a child.

"She's a friend," said Stiles.

"How did you meet her?" Derek asked, barely concealing his worry by making it appear to be anger.

"Hey, dude, not that it's your business who I have coffee with…"

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

"She was the girl that zombie Allison threw at me," said Stiles, casually, "one minute I'm trying to talk the monster down, next some girl is on top of me. She's nice. I mean, you won't like her, because, you know, she's not a psychotic mass murderer, so she's not your type, but she seems cool."

"She was with the monster?" Derek demanded.

"No, she came out of the bowling alley for her break," said Stiles, "you know wrong place wrong time?"

Wrong place wrong time? And now following Stiles? Derek didn't believe in coincidence. But he didn't think Stiles was just going to accept Derek's word on that.

"Where are you meeting her?" Derek asked.

"The coffee shop in town," said Stiles, barely suppressing a grin. "She's so cool. And she's twenty one."

Derek flinched. Part of him wanted to sneer about a grown woman hanging around with a teenager. But Derek was older than twenty one.

Stiles was already on the move again, "So, seriously dude, I'm fine, I'm going out, you don't have to hang around here."

Derek flinched again. Stiles wanted rid of him a lot. But no way was Derek leaving him alone this close to his eighteenth birthday.

"Your dad said to watch you," said Derek, "I'm not letting him down."

"What?" Stiles cried, "I'm not a kid! I don't need watching."

"You are a kid," said Derek, mostly for his own benefit, "and you are a kid with concussion. I'm not leaving you all alone."

"I won't be all alone," said Stiles, "I'm going to meet Chloe."

"No you're not," said Derek.

"Er... yeah, I am," snapped Stiles.

"No, you're not," Derek repeated, "You're sick. You'll stay home."

"Derek, you aren't actually my dad," said Stiles, "you're not even my brother, or a very creepy uncle, and you're not even an alpha werewolf any more. It's not up to you whether I go out or not."

"Your dad asked me..."

"To watch me, yes, you've said that a few times already," Stiles snapped, "So here's an idea, why don't you watch me walk out the door."

Derek watched him do just that. Then he swore and followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, it started off so promising...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long!! Here is more!  
> x

There were a number of four letter words Stiles would have quite liked to use to describe Derek Hale at that moment. None of them were flattering. But the word that crept to mind most at that moment was confusing. Because, seriously, what was Derek's problem? Just because he didn't want to throw Stiles against a flat surface and have his wicked way with him, didn't mean that Stiles shouldn't get the opportunity to throw or be thrown by someone else.

He'd jumped into his jeep quick enough but knew there was no way of stopping Mr.-Quick-as-the-Flash-because-werewolf following should he choose to. He decided he didn't care and drove as fast as he could legally travel, (legally because being stopped by his dad or one of his deputies would still put a serious downer on the day) down odd routes in an attempt to confuse Derek should he be on his tail, then pulled up near enough to the coffee shop where he was meeting Chloe.

He was a bit early so he stood in the doorway and played with his phone for a bit. Which was just enough time to be sure Derek caught up with him. The bastard.

Stiles turned into the shop the second he spotted him, and bought a coffee from the bored, hipster barista. Derek copied.

Stiles glared at him, though obviously he was no match to the judgmental eyebrows of death, and sat down at a table near the back

Seriously, why the hell had Derek followed? Stiles hadn't had such a persistent baby sitter since Mrs. Drayman in third grade. But he'd sent her off with a nervous tick. He could defeat Derek Hale. Because he didn't need a baby sitter! He was nearly eighteen and did not have a concussion.

Derek made his way over to his table.

"Can I help you sir?" Stiles greeted with cold politeness.

Derek blinked.

"There are plenty of tables," said Stiles. "I'm sitting here, but there are more over there." He pointed to the other side of the coffee shop, near the window.

Derek glared, obviously just catching on to Stiles' new tactic, "Stiles…"

"Dude, seriously, you're being a creeper," Stiles interrupted, feeling slightly smug that people listening would probably not realise that Stiles was his name.

"Stiles!" Derek scolded.

"I'm meeting someone, dude," said Stiles, now feeling incredibly smug at Derek's slightly confused and very frustrated expression. He deserved everything he got after that crap at the hospital. "Seriously, you need to back off before I have to call someone."

He backed off from saying 'the cops'. Derek would have called his bluff on that. Or repeated 'your dad told me to watch you,' which, outside the context of knowing Derek's non-verbal styles, Stiles, the concussion, and Stiles' dad almost definitely having said that, would make the few already nervous looking eavesdroppers around them think Derek was some sort of candy wielding, stranger-danger weirdo, and Stiles felt the need to protect him from that.

"Sit somewhere else, dude," he said, warningly. And Derek gave him an extra intense glare, but thankfully obeyed, striding to a nearby table, and sitting so he could watch Stiles. Which made him seem like even more of a creeper to anyone who had overheard the previous conversation. Stiles rolled his eyes and decided not to care.

It took another half hour for Chloe to arrive. She wasn't late, but Stiles hadn't meant to leave straight after the phone call, that had just been an impotent way to annoy Derek. She came in and instantly dashed to his side looking apologetic, eyes on the empty cup from his first coffee.

"Oh my God, have you been here long? I thought we said three! I'm so sor…"

"Stop saying sorry!" Stiles interrupted.

"I'm sor…"

"No, I was early," said Stiles. "Strategic escape."

He didn't look at Derek. He wasn't going to let Derek ruin this as well as his every fantasy. Well, dominate the fantasies. Now was not the time to even think about that.

"What does that mean?" Chloe asked.

"No, nothing, it doesn't mean anything," said Stiles, "Er, coffee?"

"No! This is me thanking you, the coffee's on me," said Chloe, her purse already in her hands, "because of the whole thing where you're a hero and I nearly killed you."

"You didn't nearly kill me," said Stiles, "I wasn't anywhere near dying, I'm OK."

"Still, I'm buying coffee, whether you like it or not," said Chloe. Then looked alarmed. "I mean, if you want coffee. I'm not gonna force feed you coffee or something."

"Yeah, that'd be an infringement of my human rights," said Stiles with a grin.

"Oh God," said Chloe.

Stiles shook his head like a teacher, "Trying to buy me alcohol, then trying to force feed me hot beverages… we're heading towards quite serious felonies now…"

"Oh God!" Chloe repeated.

Stiles took pity on her, and told her what he wanted to drink. She gave him a grateful smile, and wondered off to the counter. Of course Derek chose that moment to make his presence known.

He ambushed Stiles at his table. "I don't like her," he hissed.

"Dude, she just arrived!" Stiles snapped. "Anyway, it doesn't matter whether you like her or not! You're not on this date."

Derek's glare got glarier, "She smells weird."

"Why are you smelling her?" Stiles demanded in a harsh whisper, while on the inside he was roaring with very confused jealousy.

"It's wrong," said Derek.

"Go back to your own table and stop being a creeper!" Stiles hissed, just as Chloe turned around and Derek straightened up, levelled his death glare at Chloe, and strolled back to his table. From which he continued to glare at them.

"Er… do you know him?" asked Chloe.

"Nope," said Stiles, "never seen him before in my life."

"He seems to be glaring," said Chloe.

"Is he?" said Stiles, pretending to look, "I mean, I don't think he's glaring. I think he's just… you know… looking."

"His eyebrows are kind of … aggressive," said Chloe.

Stiles held in his laugh, "Yeah, totally, they look like they wanna fight each other his nose," he said.

"Didn't I see him at the hospital?" Chloe asked. "Isn't he your angry friend?"

"Er… nope, never seen him before in my life…"

"So it wasn't him who went in your room while you were with your dad?"

Stiles flushed, "Well, I mean, there were a lot of people wishing me well that night. I'm very popular, you know."

Chloe scrunched up her nose at him, "So… you do know him?"

Stiles hesitated, "Yeah, sorta, he's just… a friend of a friend and he gets a bit… growly."

Chloe laughed. "Growly?"

Stiles grinned, "Yeah, you know, like graah, I'm Derek Hale, I'm gonna rip your throat out with my teeth if you don't do as I ask, raar!"

Chloe laughed, then her face fell in fear, "Er… did he … er… he never said that, did he?"

Stiles wondered if this was getting into over-share territory, "Nah," he lied, "he's just… like… growly."

"Growly," said Chloe, "you make him sound like some kind of dog."

Stiles couldn't hold in the laugh that time. His gaze wondered to Derek, who was glaring like no one had ever glared before. And Stiles remembered he would have heard every word.

"Er… tell you what, let's talk about you," he said.

"Me?" said Chloe, "Er… there's not much to…"

"Like, where did you grow up?" Stiles supplied, "what's it like working at a bowling alley?"

And Chloe talked. And she was funny and clever and painfully self-conscious, and Stiles kind of wanted to marry her. Except he kept thinking about Derek, watching and glaring, and having a weird fantasy where Derek strode over and scooped him up and put him over his shoulder like a caveman. Which Stiles would bitch about until Derek professed his undying love.

But that was never going to happen, because the only real emotion Derek felt for Stiles was undying annoyance.

He gave Derek an extra glare when he had that thought.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

 

Stiles would have to go to the bathroom eventually.

And when he did, Derek was going to find out exactly what this bitch wanted.

Derek knew she was a bitch. He could tell from the way she was perfectly nice about everything. The way she laughed at Stiles' jokes. No one laughed at Stiles' jokes. Not even Scott thought encouraging Stiles' jokes was a good idea. And the way she looked so nervous about the whole thing. She had to be up to something. And she'd insulted Derek's eyebrows. She was a bitch.

It didn't help that Stiles kept glaring at him. What did he expect Derek to do? Leave him alone to the mercies of this bitch? She was probably a vampire in disguise. Or something.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Stiles that she'd smelt. Except it was so light a smell he couldn't be sure. It was unsettling that this trace scent lingered on her but was not enough for Derek to identify. She must have been doing something to repress it, though Derek had no idea how powerful something had to be to do that.

Stiles glared at him again. He was pretty sure he'd done nothing to deserve it. But Stiles was hardly a gifted glarer, so Derek felt no need to react to it.

Then Stiles got up. Maybe he was going to the bathroom. Derek didn't care. He dashed over.

"Who are you?" he growled at the girl.

"Er… I'm Chloe?" the girl gasped back, eyes wide with alarm and a smell that backed up the emotion.

"And what are you?" he growled. He only just managed not to wolf out.

"What?" gasped Chloe, heart racing now.

"What are you?" he repeated, "what do you want with Stiles?"

"He… er… he saved me from a mugger so…"

"I know the story you told him!" snapped Derek, "Tell me what you really want!"

Chloe just stared at him, eyes wide.

"Tell me!" Derek growled.

Chloe took a few deep but ragged breaths, "Do you… do you… love him?"

"What?" Derek snapped, "Of course I don't…"

"You want him," said Chloe, "I didn't see it before, but it's obvious. I mean, who follows someone on a date?"

"I'm watching you…" Derek started.

"Yeah, right," said Chloe. "You want him, but you know what? He's on a date with someone else. He doesn't belong to you. You need to let him go."

Derek shivered. Stiles didn't belong to him. And that could be the end for Stiles.

"He chose to be on a date with me," Chloe told him, calmly, coldly, "You can't bully your way into it. You can't force him to choose you. He's making his own choices. And you, with your aggressive, angry, miserable face can't change that."

Derek blinked. Her calm belied her previous shy awkwardness. This girl wasn't real. That smell. Those words. She was claiming Stiles as her own.

"It's you," Derek breathed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Chloe. "Stiles is coming back and we're leaving."

Derek turned. It was true, Stiles was coming back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stiles cried.

And Stiles was pissed.

"Seriously, dude, leave her alone!" Stiles cried.

"Stiles…" Derek started.

"No, Derek, there's no way this is OK. You need to back off."

He started to leave. He handed Chloe her jacket, gave her an apologetic look. Derek had to stop him. "Stiles, listen to me!"

"You OK?" Stiles asked Chloe.

"I'm OK," said Chloe, "Can we go?"

"Sure," said Stiles.

Derek had to stop him. How the hell could he stop him?

"Stiles…"

"Fuck off, Derek," Stiles snapped. "You wanted me to leave you alone, so here I am, leaving you alone. Now try doing the same."

"She's not who you think she…"

"Oh my god! Are you seriously doing this? Seriously?"

"She wants to…"

"We're going," snapped Stiles, "Come on, Chloe."

He put an arm on her back, and walked out of the coffee shop without even glancing backwards. Chloe, however, paused in the doorway. She looked back at Derek with a gleam in her eyes that Derek couldn't recognize. And now Derek was certain. Stiles had just left the coffee shop with the monster who'd been craving him for years.

Which left Derek only one choice.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

It happened far too quickly.

One moment Stiles was walking to his jeep, one hand reached out but not quite daring to take Chloe's arm, ready with a hundred apologies for Derek's insanity, all of which could wait until they were out of Derek's earshot. The next a hand was pulling him round, something was shoving itself into his hips, and suddenly, he was dangling over a muscled shoulder and getting a pretty good view of a well-defined back and stunning ass.

"What the fuck, Derek?" he shouted, because there was no one else who could have picked Stiles up and thrown him over his shoulder quite so easily, and even fewer who would want to. Not to mention, who had such a perfect back and ass.

"What are you doing?" he heard a girl, presumably Chloe, protest, with obvious fear.

"Derek!" Stiles shouted, "Put me down! Derek!"

He could already see the ground moving. Derek was carrying him off. Chloe's protests were getting quieter, but he heard a clear "I'm calling 911."

"Oh shit, Derek!" Stiles shouted, "You get that we're both gonna have to explain this to my dad, now, right?"

Derek didn't seem to feel the need to answer. So Stiles tried a few feeble orders of "Put me down, Derek!" before they reached Stiles' jeep.

"Keys?" Derek demanded.

"No way, dude," said Stiles to Derek's ass, "I'm so not contributing to my own kidnap."

He heard Derek grunt and then keep on down the road. Stiles wondered if he planned to walk all the way back to Stiles' home. He didn't. He just went a little further on to where the Camaro was parked.

"You know when you put me down, I'm just gonna run away, right?" said Stiles.

"And you know I'll catch you," said Derek. "In seconds. And then I'll put you in the trunk."

"But why, Derek?" Stiles whined. Because that was the problem. He had literally no clue why Derek was being so crazy.

Derek shoved him into the back seat of the Camaro, where Stiles ended up splayed untidily, and gave him that familiar 'I can't believe how stupid you're being right now' look. "Something can take the face of whoever it wants, and you just happen to get asked out by a pretty girl the next day! Do you think that's a coincidence Stiles?"

Stiles' jaw dropped, "Seriously?" he cried.

Derek was as unmovable as ever, "We're going home. Until we know what that thing is, you're not going anywhere."

"She's not the monster, Derek!" Stiles cried, annoyed because it was all so obvious. "She was there when the monster was there! Of all the strangers in the world, I know she is not the monster because I saw her and the monster at the same time!"

Derek didn't reply. He slammed the car door on Stiles and dove into the driver's seat. The engine was on and he was driving off before Stiles could even get his feet to the floor, and his hand on the door.

"Derek!" Stiles shouted, furiously. "You think she's the monster because she asked me out? Seriously? The guy who she ran away from?"

Derek didn't reply. He just ran a stop sign.

"Derek!" Stiles cried. Then put two and two together, "Oh my God!" he shouted, "You think she's the monster because you don't think she'd actually want to date me!"

"No!" Derek protested, but Stiles could see through it.

"You think that because I'm not built like a fucking body builder with a chiselled chin and fucking designer stubble, that there's no way some nice, hot girl would find me attractive!"

"I don't think ..."

"You total ass-w..."

"I don't think that, Stiles!"

Stiles didn't listen. He was starting to see Derek's point. In a town like Beacon Hills, where every other guy had the body of a swimwear model, why would anyone be looking at a hundred and forty seven pounds of pale, mole-covered skin and hyperactive muscle-free bones?

"It wasn't even a date," said Stiles, almost to himself, "not really."

"Stiles..."

"It was just coffee. She was just saying thank you. She never pretended to find me attractive."

"Stiles this is not about how attractive you are," Derek growled.

"Would you be reacting this way if I looked like Scott?" Stiles demanded.

Derek only growled at him in frustration.

"Oh my God, how the hell am I supposed to explain all this to Chloe?!" Stiles groaned.

"You won't need to," said Derek, "because next time you see her she will be trying to eat you."

"Not anymore, she won't," Stiles mumbled.

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

But Stiles had never been cowed by Derek's growls before, and he was not about to start now, "OK, let's just pretend you're right, that Chloe is somehow the monster that threw the other her at me, what can she possibly hope to gain from buying me coffee, Derek?"

Derek was silent for a long moment, face intense with broody Derek-thoughts.

"See?" Stiles cried, taking the silence for acquiescence, "It doesn't make sense!"

Derek hit the wheel. Stiles was quite impressed it didn't snap, but managed to hold in his comment, aware his limbs were probably less sturdy.

"Stiles," Derek growled, voice low, "we need to talk."

"What?" said Stiles, "what do you think we're doing now?"

"Stiles..." Derek began, but Stiles saw the how the cogs in his mind worked.

"And seriously, Derek, I don't want another lecture on avoiding the paranormal. You're just not gonna win that argument!"

"It's not..."

"You know, my dad's been trying to persuade me that fries count as a vegetable since third grade, if he can't win..."

"Stiles will you just listen?" Derek snapped.

"Dude you sound like a teacher right now," Stiles told him, and gave him the appropriate look, experienced by all Stiles teachers when they were being unreasonable.

Derek pulled over. They were in the middle of nowhere, now. He looked back at Stiles, all eyebrows and stubble and growled "Get in the front."

"And normal people don't order other people around, you know that right?" Stiles replied, but he obeyed anyway, clambering into the front, being careful to knock Derek not quite so accidentally on the way, and then sitting, arms folded, in the front seat giving Derek his best challenging glare. "Well?"

Derek rubbed his face with his hands.

"Jesus," he mumbled.

Stiles frowned. What was going on? Had Derek been hiding something? Something big? For how long?

"Dude, when grown-ups wanna say something, they use their words."

"Stiles, will you..." Derek snapped, then took a deep breath. "When you were eight, or something, you showed up in the forest outside my house. Do you remember?"

That took Stiles by surprise. Not least because he had no memories of it. "No I didn't!" he protested.

"Yes you did," said Derek, "My mom took the memories from me. I guess she took them from you too."

"No, but..." Stiles was wracking his brains. He couldn't remember it, not even for a moment, "Was I with my dad or ..."

Derek interrupted, "No, you were alone. I think you were running away from home."

"Yeah, now I know you're lying, because I never ran away from home," said Stiles, "I wouldn't do that to my dad."

"You were sad," said Derek, "your smell was so sad it hurt. I could feel it burning inside me, you were so sad."

Stiles ignored the words. They made no sense. "No, it never happened!" he cried.

"My mom took your memories, Stiles," said Derek. "She didn't want you living in fear."

"In fear of what?" Stiles asked, curiously, before remembering this was crap. "No, stop it! What is this, some new crazy technique to freak me out until I leave you alone? Which will so never work, dude."

"No," said Derek, quietly and firmly, "I'm telling the truth."

"Well I don't believe you!" Stiles snapped, angrily. "What even happened? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know what it is," said Derek with obvious annoyance, probably at his own ignorance more than Stiles.

Stiles folded his arms, "Look, I never ran away from home, I never went to your house until after the fire, I never knew any of this stuff was real until your psycho creep of an uncle bit my best friend. So what exactly are you accusing me of, Derek?"

Derek blinked at him. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he said.

"Then what is this conversation about?" Stiles groaned.

"Stiles, there was ..." Derek took a deep breath, his fingers curling and uncurling at the wheel, "there was a... creature there that night."

"A what?" Stiles cried, again bemused, confused.

Derek fidgeted, "A creature. I don't know what it was."

"What, you haven't made up that part of the story yet?" Stiles snapped, voice treacherously missing his intended unruffled sneer by a mile, and hitting some kind of furious panic.

"I'm not making it up, Stiles," said Derek, still making an effort to hold in his own obvious anger. "We took you into the house because it was too dangerous outside, but it got in somehow, and it said it wanted you..."

Stiles shivered, "What? Now I know you're lying, seriously, nobody wants me! My dad loves me more that life itself but he doesn't actually want me around for more than like, an hour at a time."

Derek didn't take the hint. He just kept going,"It tried to persuade you to go with it. It… it changed its face, Stiles! Became a woman with…"

"Stop! Stop it!" Stiles shouted, "Because if you're about to pretend it became Chloe…"

Derek shook his head, "No, I think… I think it was your mo…"

"Shut up!" Stiles shouted. He could feel his own anger making his face hot, his own fear and panic making his heart race, "You're telling me your mom stole my memories! Do you know who else stole my memories? The nogitsune! The nogitsune left great blanks in my head, time I couldn't remember, and now you're telling me your mom did the same?"

"She did it to prote..." Derek started, but Stiles was too far gone to listen now.

"And you let her? You let her decide what I had to forget? What, do you think that you're better than us? That you're some sort of gods because you can run faster and pick us up and move us like toddlers?" He heard Derek's 'no' of protest, but it didn't register. "Taking people's memories and turning them into monsters without even a thought about their opinion? Did I want my memories stolen? Did Scott want to be a werewolf? You don't own the town Derek!"

"I didn't turn Scott..."

"No, your creepy uncle did. The same creepy uncle who hangs around not quite helping out when things try to kill us. So maybe this whole god complex runs in the family. You made yourself a little gang of followers, your little disciples, just like Uncle Peter, little toys for you to control, just like Mommy. Oh, humans? They don't count, they aren't one of us, the almighty Hales, masters of Beacon Hills."

"You were eight! Should we have just left you to deal with it?" Derek protested, even as Stiles spoke over him.

"So we'll have them as our little puppets on a string, doing as their told, playing our games, messing with people's lives!"

"Stiles..."

"A human dies? Who cares? Like who cares when a sheep dies or a cow dies, right? Your little farm. Your little playground. You think it's funny? You enjoy seeing people in pain? Do you?"

Derek didn't reply. He was staring forward now. Ignoring Stiles. Maybe trying to block him out. Stiles didn't really see him anymore anyway.

"Why me?! Why did it come after me? What did I do, Derek? What, am I just so pathetic? It thought there wouldn't be a fight?"

There was a stinging silence in the car at that. Derek was staring out of the windscreen, and Stiles was reeling. What had he just said? The idea of another creature taking control of him had hit him with such force he'd lost track of his own mouth. The thing that had used his hands to stab his best friend, that had caused the deaths of people he knew, people he cared about, good people, still made him scared to sleep in case he wasn't in control when he woke up. Now Derek was telling him something else was targeting him. He'd lost himself in panic.

"I'm just this scrawny human kid who can't even read a book without drugs to help him focus," he said, "So you supernatural things, you see that and you think, oh, hey, there's a way to Scott, a way to mess up the town."

Derek wasn't even looking at him. What the hell was he saying? What had he said?

"I should go home," Stiles said. Because sorry was almost on his lips, except Derek had definitely been a dick in the last few days, so Stiles wasn't starting the apology fest when he still wanted to scream at the world.

Derek didn't reply. He simply turned the ignition and drove.

"I'm sorry," said Stiles after a few minutes. Because that was what people did when they lost their shit and probably insulted someone's entire family.

"I know," said Derek.

"Dick," said Stiles. Because Derek should have apologized too.

Stiles' phone rang. It was Chloe. He hesitated, staring at it. Derek took the decision out of his hands, literally, taking the phone and sending the call to voicemail.

...xxx…xxx…xxx…

"Stiles?" said Chloe.

"Hey, this is Stiles, I'm busy saving the world or whatever, so leave a message, yeah, it's twenty fourteen, you know how these things work."

Chloe sighed. She hadn't really expected him to answer. She'd called 911, and the second she'd said Stiles' name, she'd been put through to a tired sounding man who'd done nothing but sigh at her story.

"Right," he'd said, "Thanks for letting us know."

"Er… aren't you gonna do anything?" she'd asked, bemused.

"Yeah," replied the tired man, "I'll probably try to ground him again, but it won't make any difference. Thanks for calling."

"Er…" said Chloe, because she didn't know what else to say.

"Have a nice day, Miss," said the tired man, "maybe when he's allowed out on his own again, maybe in fifty years, he'll get round to introducing us."

"Er…" said Chloe again.

But the guy had hung up on her. So Chloe put her phone away and stood still for a moment.

Then she'd walked purposefully down the street. When she'd gone a few blocks she got her phone out again and sent a few texts. Then she turned down an alley, between dark buildings. She had her hands in her pockets and a thoughtful look on her face. About halfway down she stopped and turned slowly back the way she'd come.

A dark figure was stood behind her, silent as the grave.

Chloe raised her eyebrows. "Can I help you?" she asked.


	6. Chapter 6

Scott's reaction to the news was both more level headed and more pragmatic than Stiles'. But then, Stiles had hardly laid a high benchmark.

He demanded Derek explain a dozen times. Then he demanded to know more. How long Derek had known, why he didn't explain to them all the moment he realised, whether there was anyone else who might know what the creature was, whether he knew how they might find it.

Stiles had fallen into a miserable silence. He was aware of every person in Derek's loft (because apparently when you asked Derek to go home, he took you to his home) staring at him with open confusion and concern. Silence was not something Stiles liked, nor was it a something he found easy to handle, but inside his head his thoughts were having a riot.

Lydia was trying to be practical. She too was asking questions, and hers were more probing than the ones Scott was focusing on. She wanted descriptions from everyone, how not-Allison had seemed, what the creature at Derek's house had looked like and smelt like and sounded like and what it had done. Then she demanded what Peter knew.

Peter wasn't actually there, so she got a blank look from the gathered group.

"Seriously, we need to talk to him!" she said.

No one answered her.

She gave them all a slightly annoyed look. "Look, I know he doesn't just help out of the evilness of his heart, I know he only does things if he knows how it will benefit him, but this is about keeping Stiles safe! We have to try."

"What if it isn't?" said Stiles.

They all turned to him again, faces painted with frowns of concern and pity. Stiles blocked that all out.

"What if it isn't about me?" he clarified, "Derek saw an eight year old boy in some memory. We don't know it was me, we don't even know if it's a real memory…"

The eyes dotted to Derek, who was being very monosyllabic in his answers to questions now. He kept his own eyes on Stiles, maybe wondering where he was going with this, how far Stiles was prepared to insult Derek.

Stiles was trying to make the same point he'd been making since Derek first told him, "I mean, Derek was only a kid himself, right? And I know the general consensus is that puberty passed me by, but I seriously doubt I look the same as I did when I was eight. Right? And if Derek's mom could take memories, who's to say something else can't make them. Fake ones, right? I mean, Peter put himself into Lydia's mind! Maybe this is all him, messing with us?"

They looked at each other, the few that were left. Scott, Kira, Isaac, and Lydia. They were uncomfortable at the change in the tension Stiles had just created. Derek may not be the alpha anymore, but everyone was still uncomfortable outright calling him wrong.

"It was you, Stiles," said Derek, quietly.

Stiles kept challenging him, "How can you be sure? Did I say, 'Hey there, grumpy eyebrows, my name's Stiles Stilinski, where are your impossible creatures?' Did you I show you any ID?"

"I just know," said Derek.

Stiles leaned forward, "But, dude, there are three guys in this room who were all kinda weird, skinny kids when you were a teenager. There must be hundreds, if not…"

"I know it was you, Stiles," snapped Derek.

"How?" Stiles demanded.

"You said your name, but I couldn't remember it," Derek grumbled, "I think Scott McCall and Isaac Lahey wouldn't have given me that much trouble."

"But I never tell anyone my name!" Stiles snapped.

"Er, Stiles?" said Scott, "when your mum was alive, you always told people your real name. You only decided you wanted us to call you Stiles when we were in third grade. Before then I used to call you…"

"Yes, OK!" snapped Stiles, "No need to out me as the guy with the weird name!"

Scott raised his hands, "OK, dude, I'm just saying, you might have told Derek your real name back then."

Stiles glared at him, "OK, but that still doesn't mean it was me! There are loads of guys with weird names!"

Derek grumbled a low growl, "I know it was you, Stiles."

"How?" Stiles demanded again, frustrated.

Derek's eyes were like fire, "Because you were so annoying!" he said. But there was a quiver in his voice, and both Scott and Isaac shifted uncomfortably.

"That was a lie," said Stiles, "you're hiding something!"

"How do you…?" Derek started.

"Scott and Isaac spotted it. Didn't you?" Stiles demanded, turning to the younger werewolves, "Didn't you?"

"Er…" said Scott, as Isaac shrugged.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," said Lydia. "Even if it isn't Stiles, we've still got to investigate. Some teenager might be about to get kidnapped."

"Right," said Kira, "we need to check out the bowling place, see if there are any clues…"

"I'll sniff it out, again," said Scott, "and maybe Lydia and Kira could check out this girl? Chloe, right?"

"It's not Chloe!" Stiles groaned.

"You didn't hear, her, Stiles!" Derek growled. "She was claiming you!"

Stiles couldn't help but scoff, "Seriously? Chloe claimed me? She wouldn't have the confidence to claim anything! She's like a nervous little puppy!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "It was an act, Stiles!"

"Right," Scott interrupted, "I'm thinking maybe Derek should come with me, check out the scene again, and Stiles can go with…"

"No," said Derek firmly.

"No, what?" Stiles snapped at him.

"No, you're not going anywhere," said Derek, simply, face tinting a shade of pink which Stiles assumed was a sign of some sort of hitherto unforeseen level of Derek anger.

"Are you kidding me?" Stiles grumbled.

"Stiles is in danger," said Derek, turning to Scott now, "he's being targeted by a supernatural being, and I believe that being is Chloe. I don't think Stiles should be going anywhere near her right now, not to visit her and not to her workplace. Until we know more, Stiles needs to be as far away from her as possible."

"Oh my god!" Stiles cried at him, like he could make the phrase be somehow accusatory.

Derek ignored him, and kept on with his instructions to Scott, "We need someone who can fight to stay with him, too. You would be too easily distracted by him, Isaac doesn't have the experience, which leaves me."

"Or Kira," said Stiles.

"…who's only just learning about her own abilities," Derek finished for him. "I'll stay and watch Stiles. Isaac, you and Lydia investigate the scene, then check out the Argent bestiary, see what you can find. Scott and Kira check out the girl, and go to Deaton, ask him what he knows. Then in the morning, if nothing has come after him, we'll regroup and make a new plan."

Stiles saw the flaw in this plan, "So, what do we do, sit about twiddling our thumbs while our friends visit people you claim to be dangerous?"

"We research," said Derek. "Find out what has the ability to change its face. And we talk to Peter."

"Eugh," said Stiles. "I get all the fun jobs."

Derek raised his eyebrows, "And you have to call your dad, explain why you're not at home. And why I had to kidnap you from a public place in broad daylight."

"I think you secretly hate me," said Stiles, giving Derek his best glare, "Actually, maybe not so secretly."

"Ok," said Scott, "so we're going. Leaving you two to this weird… whatever it is you got going on."

Stiles realized Scott might have been losing his grip on reality. The only thing 'going on' between Stiles and Derek was an argument, not an excuse for them all to leave Stiles alone with a werewolf who had already kidnapped him once that day.

With a handful of awkward 'bye's, the rest of them filed out. Stiles watched them go, wondering if begging would change their minds. It probably wouldn't.

"So," he said, "just the two of us. Again."

Derek sat down and crossed his arms.

"You know," said Stiles, "This could have been easily avoided. We could both be off investigating. Separately."

Derek took out his phone and began poking at the screen.

"Yep, I could be out with Scott, checking out leads, providing the brain power he needs. You could be out looking moody on roofs and shit. But nope, here we are, stuck together, not quite talking to each other."

Derek just continued texting. Which, Stiles knew, was simply an obvious invitation to keep complaining.

"Derek! You don't even like me!" Stiles moaned, "Why are you doing this to us? In fact, I think 'not like' is too mild a term for how you feel about me. I think it's verging on hate."

"No," said Derek.

"So why are you making... wait, what?"

"No," Derek repeated.

"No, what?" said Stiles.

"No, I don't hate you," said Derek, that tinge of pink appearing on his face again. Though he didn't seem angry.

"Well, there are bruises on my back that suggest otherwise..." said Stiles.

Derek kept looking at his phone, even though it was obvious that he'd finished texting, "I ... find it difficult..." he said, "talking to people. Trusting people."

"Yeah, no shit," said Stiles.

Derek shifted, "It took me a while to know you and Scott weren't out to get me."

"Well," said Stiles, "we really aren't organised enough to 'get' someone. We don't really have long term objectives and stuff."

Derek gave him a look at that.

Stiles gave him a small smile back. "I'm sorry," he said, "for what I said in the car. I don't really think that stuff. I was just panicked. You know?"

Derek shrugged, "A lot of it was true."

Stiles shrugged, "Well, yeah, Peter's a creep and I seriously don't know why you let him into your building let alone your pack, but..." Stiles shifted, painfully, awkwardly, "it was not OK to talk about your Mom. I know that. I'd have punched anyone who said anything about mine."

Derek nodded. "I know she wanted to do what was best for everyone," he said. "But I know why you're angry."

"I'm not," said Stiles, and it was kind if true, "not really. I mean, I can understand why your mom kept it secret. Can you imagine what my dad would have said? He'd lost Mom, and then you lot show up and put a time bomb on my head?"

Derek seemed to shift closer, finally letting his eyes meet Stiles' "I'm not going to let it take you," he said, confidently.

Stiles' heart skipped. He had to force himself to remember that Derek meant that as his pack, not because he felt for Stiles anything he didn't feel for Scott and the rest. "Thanks," he said.

Derek looked at him hard. He had stupidly beautiful eyes.

Stiles clutched his hands together and bit his lip, wondering when he'd begun to trust Derek to look after him. How long had it taken for him to stop expecting a gruesome death at the werewolf's hands, and start expecting him to put himself between Stiles and danger?

"I still think you're wrong," said Stiles. "I think that you just met the awesomeness that is me about a year ago, as we all knew, but felt so much pure adoration that you figured you must have always known me. So you put my face on some random kid you met when you were fourteen or however old."

Derek raised an eyebrow, but a smirk played around his lips, so Stiles continued.

"But you gotta face it Derek, every once in a while you will just meet someone so incredibly perfect you will just want to worship the very ground they walk on. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Go with the flow."

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek.

"It's not my fault you can't handle my awesomeness," Stiles replied.

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

"Stiles..."

"The genius, the wit and the beauty that makes up Stiles Stilinski is an acquired taste, but few who have become accustomed can, thereafter, resist."

"So you're talking about yourself in the third person now?" Derek sneered.

Stiles grinned at him, "Admittedly, the church of the Stiles was slow to gain a flock at first, but after just nearly eighteen years, the congregation had more than doubled, to a dizzying figure of dedicated followers who could not love their idol more."

"We've got to call your dad," said Derek, but his smirk was definitely morphing into a smile now.

Stiles just grinned at him, "First, there was Scott, a plucky young boy, searching for a leader of wit and effortless cool, to guide him through the darkness of his high school years."

"Where's your phone?" Derek asked.

Stiles got off the couch, took a step away from Derek and put his hand over his pocket to protect said phone. "Later came Lydia, though it took her a number of years to realise how much she adored the Stiles. In fact, she still takes some convincing."

"Stiles..."

Stiles just grinned and edged further away, "Then there was Derek Hale. He did not know he was searching for a leader before he found the Stiles. In fact he thought..."

Derek glared, "Give me your phone Stiles!"

But Stiles just spoke over him, "He thought he was made to be leader himself. But the Stiles showed him the true meaning of leader...ship."

Derek lunged at Stiles, who darted away. Derek caught him, of course, (darn werewolfy cheating agility,) but Stiles was already laughing. Even as Derek pinned him against the wall with hands on his shoulders.

Derek appreciated the joke though. He was doing his pretending to be angry with Stiles thing, but Stiles could tell.

"The Stiles?" Derek smirked, "Seriously? Third person and the definite article?"

Stiles smirked back, "Well, when someone's this awesome, they need all the grammar..."

"All the grammar?" Derek repeated.

"Absolutely all the grammar," Stiles confirmed. "As a mark of respect."

"Respect?" Derek repeated, bemused, "give me your phone."

Stiles smirked, "Not until you admit how awesome I am."

"Really?" said Derek, eyebrows at their highest, but twitches about his face giving away his humour, "you think you're in a position to negotiate?"

"I know to a casual observer, this totally looks like you've got the upper hand, but the casual observer is not aware of my super-secret ninja skills."

"Super-secret ninja skills," said Derek, "those super-secret ninja skills that you've never shown anyone. Ever?"

"Or they're just so super cool and secret, they're too fast to see," said Stiles.

Derek observed him. "Ok," he said, "get free."

"What?" Stiles laughed.

"I wanna see these super-secret ninja skills in action," said Derek, "Maybe I could learn something."

Stiles had a couple of problems with that. Firstly, he had absolutely no way of getting free from Derek's grasp. For a second he had no desire to. But he went with it.

"Oh my god!" he cried, looking over Derek's shoulder.

Derek raised his eyebrow again.

"Seriously Derek, there's a zombie approaching!"

Derek shook his head.

"Eugh, fine," said Stiles. He tried to tickle Derek. It didn't work. Because solid walls of muscle may or may not be ticklish, but Derek was faster and had longer arms. He grabbed both of Stiles wrists and pushed them above his head.

Stiles tried to hold in the gasp.

"That all you got?" said Derek, "I could hold you with one hand."

He demonstrated by taking both of Stiles' hands in one of his. Stiles wondered if Derek knew how quickly this had gone from teasing to a beautiful man holding him helpless against a wall and giving him a significant pant-related problem.

"Ung," said Stiles. Which wasn't that impressive.

"So, I was after your phone," said Derek, smirking. He waved his free hand in front of Stiles, then slowly crept it towards Stiles' pocket, while Stiles squirmed And tried to remember about breathing and how it was necessary even when pinned to walls by gorgeous older men.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

There was a polite cough from the doorway.

Derek sprang away from Stiles, and glared at rude, interrupting Peter.

Peter smirked back and said "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

Derek wanted to shout at his uncle, but really he could only curse himself and be grateful for the wakeup call. How stupid could he be? Maybe Stiles was flirting a bit, but probably it was just because he felt guilty about his words in the car. Or maybe he just needed a bit of comfort! He was a kid who had just learnt he might be in danger! And Derek had very nearly taken advantage of that. Derek was a horrible person.

Stiles, who was always wittier and more verbal than anyone else, even if it often presented as ramblings and insanity, said, "Seriously? You make two people jump a mile and your only comment is a cliché so old that my grandmother would have rolled her eyes at it?"

Peter put his head on one side, "Nice deflection," he said, with a preen, "I'm sorry my wit wasn't sufficient for your tastes. Maybe I should try the more direct approach. Was there a reason my nephew was pinning you to a wall with his hand on your pants?"

Derek's face felt embarrassingly warm again. That was happening too often today. He went to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. What on Earth had he been thinking?

"That's not really any of your business, is it?" said Stiles, seeming far cooler than Derek could have managed.

Peter smirked, "Oh, I see," he said, "It's not my business. So... are we not communicating today? Because I was under the impression that Derek wanted my help. But if I'm wrong, I'll just..."

He turned and pointed at the door, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. Derek had to stop him.

"We were just messing around," he said.

Peter turned back, his eyes gleaming, "I see," he said, "and so you pin all your teenage..." he looked at Stiles, calculatingly, "friends to various walls do you?"

"Yeah, most of us," said Stiles, casually. "Sometimes it's trees, according to Scott, and usually he's saving our lives or we're being irritating. Just then, he was trying to steal my phone." He gave Peter a scathing look. "Just because you're a creeper doesn't mean the rest of us are. Don't judge the rest of us by your standards."

Peter raised his eyebrows, and gave Stiles a look Derek suspected was admiration, no matter how much it looked like derision. "Again, I'll remind you that it was Derek that sent me text asking me for help," he said, conversationally, "but, by all means, keep insulting me. I'm sure mild annoyance is a far more effective tool of persuasion than people give it credit for."

Derek growled. He shouldn't have. Peter found it entertaining, and Stiles just rolled his eyes.

"Eugh, fine," said Stiles, "You're not a total creep. Though, as you can totally tell that's a lie, maybe you can give me points for effort and help us out anyway?"

Peter's eyes met Derek and Derek was certain his uncle had somehow won that conversation, as Peter usually did even if the rest of them didn't consider conversations to be competitive. He strolled casually further into Derek's home as though it were his own, and reclined on the couch. "So I assume you're in dire need of my wealth of experience in the world of monsters and creatures of the dark," he said, and looked at them both expectantly.

"Actually, we're mostly curious about something you've been hiding from us," said Stiles, with maximum rudeness.

Peter hummed to himself, "Much as I would like to claim complete honesty with you darling children, I must admit to there being parts of my life that I've held back. The name of my first crush, for example, the date I lost my virginity. But I'm not sure if any of it has been relevant so far."

"Peter," Derek scolded, before Stiles could say something equally or more sarcastic which would inevitably escalate, "We need to know about the night Stiles turned up in the forest outside the old house."

He watched Peter carefully as the older werewolf tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of the chair.

"Well, that would have happened, surely, while I was in a coma?" he said. "I don't think I can add anything to the discussion."

Stiles got in before Derek could say anything.

"There was a kid, about eight years old, apparently, who showed up outside your house before the fire, about ten years ago. Derek's convinced it was me, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't."

For the first time in the conversation, Peter looked slightly perturbed.

"Do you remember him, Peter?" Derek asked. "We were out in the forest, they were looking for a creature, we wanted to be part of it, but we bumped into a scared kid, and we took him back to the house to keep him safe?"

Peter put his head to one side, "You kidnapped a kid?"

"No!" Derek growled, angrily, "There was a monster in the woods so we took him back to the house to keep him safe. You have to remember!"

Peter thought for a while. Then he shrugged. "Lots of creatures showed up back then. Mostly they were friends of Talia or Deaton."

"Peter…" Derek started angrily. He had been certain Peter knew something, but this didn't play like a lie.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Derek, if Talia met something that worried her, she'd keep notes. I put everything I found on that laptop." He turned to Stiles, who shifted under the gaze despite his own glare, "Stiles, be a dear, fetch the laptop for us. I believe it's in Derek's room."

"What? Why can't you get it?" asked Stiles.

"Obviously because Derek neither trusts me alone in his home, nor alone with you. If you would just fetch it for us, it would save a lot of awkwardness." Peter smiled, and if he weren't Peter, it could have been mistaken for innocently.

Stiles glanced at Derek, face sulky, but he seemed to accept the truth of the statement. He stropped off up the spiral stairs, and as soon as he was certainly out of earshot, Peter said "What parts of this story have you left out to avoid upsetting the human?"

Derek glared. But there were parts of it he had left out. Not relevant parts though. "Nothing important."

Peter's eyes were quick, but wide, possibly with frankness. "Derek, who knows what details may trigger my memory! I was in a coma for six years, then dead for a few months. I'm still catching up."

Derek snorted. Peter was still the most dangerous and capable individual he knew. He even seemed to take the snort as a compliment.

"Come on, Derek," he said, taking pleasure in every word and every uncomfortable shift that Derek made, "give me details. I may be able to help."

Derek glared a bit longer, but he was in no position to hold back. "He tried to scream so you told me to gag him."

Peter actually smirked. "And did you?"

"With my hand," said Derek, feeling uncomfortable admitting even that. "He tried to scratch me so you threatened him with your claws."

He had tried to make it sound accusatory, but Peter had never been one to feel guilt. "I imagine him making a lot of noise would have put us all in danger," the older man supplied, so close now to smiling that Derek found it hard not to scratch his major arteries open.

"Yes," said Derek.

Clearly enjoying this far too much, Peter leaned forward conspiratorially, "And how else did you abuse our young friend, Derek?"

Derek's heart skipped a beat. Peter simply smirked at him. "You're wondering how I know?" Peter asked.

Derek nodded, not quite able to answer his previous question yet.

"It's written all through your scent, Derek," Peter told him, himself reeking of amusement, "the guilt is a bit of a constant for you, but there's a new twinge of it, and a whole heap of embarrassment now too."

Derek glared at him harder. He hated Peter. If he weren't Derek's only remaining family, and if Derek hadn't already killed once, the older man would never see the light of day. Or at least not the inside of Derek's loft. Unfortunately, at that moment he was necessary.

"I… he tried to run away. So I… I bound his hands…with..."

"With duct tape?" Peter finished for him.

Derek's eyes widened "You remember?"

Peter's focus seemed to have slipped. He was gazing into the distance, no longer seeing Derek's face.

"Peter?" Derek called, "Peter? Do you remember?"

Peter's eyes slipped back to Derek. He took a moment longer before he said "No, it just seemed like the most likely thing you'd use to tie up a child."

Which was, of course, the moment Stiles chose to come back into the room.

"What?" he said, face scrunched with confusion and vague disgust.

Peter turned to greet him with a friendly smile, and said jovially "Our dear Derek, here, tied up a local child." He made a tutting sound with his tongue. "And I'm the one that gets the creepy jokes. How is that fair?"

"Yeah, you're still creepy," said Stiles. "That's a given. Always will be." But he was staring at Derek now, like Derek might have grown an extra head.

"Well, at least I've got company in the creepy gang," said Peter.

"Stiles," said Derek.

"Is this, er… the kid that you think was me?" Stiles asked.

"Well, I…" Derek shifted, feeling more horrid than ever, "I was just a kid too… I mean…"

"Yeah, kids tie each other up all the time," said Stiles, with heavy sarcasm.

"No, I mean…" Derek felt his skin flame. He didn't think werewolves were capable of blushing like this. "I mean... you tried to run away..."

"No shit," said Stiles.

"I had to keep you safe, Stiles!" Derek protested, "I had to protect you! Something was trying to eat you! You were panicking!"

"You wanted me to calm down so you tied me up?"

Derek blinked. "That was exactly what you said!"

"What?" said Stiles.

"Those words! That's exactly what you said! That day! It has to be you Stiles!"

"Or someone of equal wit!" said Stiles.

"No one thinks like you, Stiles!" Derek cried.

"Gee, thanks!" Stiles intoned, sarcastically.

Derek didn't reply to that. In case he pointed out how much adoration he nearly showed Stiles in just that one sentence.

"Well, thanks for the entertainment," said Peter, "When you know anything, do let me know. I'm slightly curious now."

"Has Peter actually managed to be useful?" Stiles asked.

"I'm afraid not," said Peter, "It seems my dear sister stole my memories too. I shall try not to be bitter about it."

Stiles looked at Derek, "Is he lying?"

Derek shrugged, "Some people can hide lies, even from a werewolf. And Peter's had a lot of practice." But he didn't trust Peter, not one bit.

Peter simply smiled, as though it were some great compliment.

"Well, if I'm no longer needed," said Peter.

"Yeah, thanks," said Stiles, "don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Peter turned to him, full attention on Stiles, their eyes meeting, breath intermingling in a way that made Derek want to insert himself between them and start growling.

"You would have done well as part of my pack," Peter told the teenager in a hushed voice that Derek couldn't fail to hear, and that sent chills down his spine, "but I would have had to tame you first. I would have enjoyed that immensely."

Stiles blinked. Someone growled, deep and angry. It took a moment for Derek to realize it was him.

"Yeah, you're still the creepiest guy I know," Stiles told Peter.

Peter smirked once more at Derek, and then left. Derek briefly wondered what it would be like to make such an impression that an exit would make people shiver like that.

Stiles watched him go, with a shaking head. "Yep, definitely the creepiest guy I know by a mile," he muttered, "but, Derek, what the fuck, dude?"

Derek, looked at the floor. "It seemed like the right thing …"

"At the time, yeah," said Stiles, "I know. Dude, you've got serious repression tendencies, you know that, right?"

Derek didn't reply. He looked at the laptop, still clutched in Stiles' hands, and when Stiles didn't move the conversation forward, simply took it and opened it.

But Stiles being Stiles, didn't let it go. "So… something else we're not talking about? Like you breaking into my room and us waking the nematon, and all those other times when the whole not talking about stuff worked out great. Or, you know, deadly."

He looked at Derek like he could read every thought Derek could ever have. But Derek couldn't talk. What more was there to say? Derek was a total screw up. There were few people in the world who had failed as many people as Derek had, quite so spectacularly. Even as a kid there had been something wrong with him. Paige, Stiles, Kate, Jennifer. A list of regrets and poor decisions.

Stiles' phone rang. Derek looked down at it, then turned his attention back to the laptop.

Stiles muttered, clearly annoyed, then said, more clearly, "I'm so not dropping this, dude," before he answered his phone. Derek pretended he couldn't hear out of habit, but it was impossible for him not to.

"Hey Scott," said Stiles, voice tired.

"Stiles, dude!" cried Scott's tinny voice through the tiny speaker, "We found her…"

"What? Chloe?" Stiles gasped, "Don't tell me she suddenly smells weird to you, too, please dude! Tell me she's normal!"

Derek could hear the discomfort in Scott's voice. "Stiles, I'm sorry…"

"No!" Stiles cried, "She is not evil, dude! No one who puts their foot in their mouth that often can be evil! Imagine the whole evil reveal moment with that many apologies! Dude, she would be laughed out of villain school!"

"No, Stiles, I'm sorry!" Scott interrupted, "Stiles, she's dead."

Stiles dropped the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

On Stiles' say so, Scott had called the police. He had been a bit lost himself, shocked and surprised. He didn't know Chloe, of course, but he had met her and thought she was nice. And this was no way to die.

"Throat slashed," said the forensics woman to the sheriff. She had no idea Scott was listening, but the sheriff did. "Single, long cut as far as I can tell."

"Any idea what with?" the sheriff asked, in his sad and quiet crime scene voice.

"Not yet," said the forensics woman, "Doesn't look deep though, just an inch or something. Enough."

"Yeah," said the sheriff, "enough." He glanced towards Scott, "Keep me posted," he told the forensics woman, and then made his way over to Scott. "How much did you hear?" he asked with a frown.

"All of it," said Scott, honestly.

The sheriff sighed. "How did you find the body?"

"I smelt the blood and followed it," said Scott. "I didn't need to touch her to check, I knew she wasn't alive. I knew her heart wasn't beating."

"Well, according to her cell phone, the last number she called was nine one one," said the Sheriff, with a consoling look in Scott's direction, "and the call lasted a few minutes. But I've been to dispatch and there's..."

"Yeah, that was probably when Derek kidnapped Stiles…" said Scott.

"Oh crap," said the sheriff, "this is her? The girl Stiles went to see?"

"Yeah," Scott admitted, sadly.

"Crap," said the Sheriff again. "You better tell me everything you know. Right now. And I mean everything, got it?"

Scott nodded. "But it's off the record, right?" he said, "There's, like, werewolves and face changing creatures and stuff."

The sheriff sighed again, but nodded.

Scott cringed before he told the story.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

"She was normal!" Stiles repeated.

"I keep telling you, we don't know that!" Derek insisted. "She smelt weird…"

"And that can't have been because she was physically grabbed by zombie Allison yesterday? It has to be because she is a monster?"

"Most likely," said Derek.

Stiles let out his most exasperated sigh in Derek's general direction and stropped around Derek's sofa to drop back down on to it. Chloe was dead. Sweet, innocent, funny, cute Chloe. He'd known her less than twenty four hours, and, however she'd been killed, it was almost definitely partly his fault. If he hadn't let Derek drag him off, they could have stayed in the coffee shop longer, or he could have walked her home, or given her a lift. She wouldn't have been an open target like that.

But it was mostly Derek's fault.

"You bastard," Stiles mumbled, "you know it's your fault, right?"

Derek didn't reply. Stiles didn't look at him. He hoped the bastard had listened, accepted that he was a bastard for not believing Stiles when he insisted Chloe wasn't evil. Anyone could see that Chloe wasn't evil! Anyone could see she was a decent person. What was wrong with Derek?

"Are you just a shit judge of women?" Stiles asked.

Still Derek didn't reply. Now that was beginning to feed Stiles' anger.

"I gotta go figure out who did this to her," he said, and got up.

A hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. "You are not going anywhere."

"Derek!" Stiles protested.

"You're not getting yourself killed!" Derek growled, "I will not … You're not going out there!"

"It's not your decision!" said Stiles.

"I will tie you down," growled Derek.

Stiles shivered, not entirely with fear. "What is the matter with you?" he demanded of Derek and himself.

"I am not letting you get yourself killed!" Derek growled.

"Fuck you!" Stiles shouted.

Derek didn't reply again. Stiles wished he could growl like a werewolf. His pathetic, seventeen year old human voice box would just sound stupid if he tried it.

"I'm sorry she's dead," said Derek.

Stiles huffed.

"If she really wasn't involved, then of course I'm sorry."

"If?" Stiles repeated, "If? I think it's firmly established that she wasn't some zombie monster, Derek!"

"Nothing is established," said Derek. "Look, as soon as Scott gets back, I'll leave you alone, but…"

"Leave me alone?" Stiles repeated, "How the fuck does your brain work?"

Derek snorted, "Seriously, you're asking me how my brain works?"

Stiles ignored him, "One minute you won't let me out of your sight, the next you want rid of me?"

"Shut up, Stiles!" Derek snapped.

And for once Stiles did. He didn't know what to say. Derek was insane.

They stayed that way for a while; Stiles trying to process everything, Derek thinking about whatever it was he was thinking about. It took a while for Derek to say "Stop it, you're freaking me out."

"Stop what? I wasn't doing anything," said Stiles.

"I know, that's what's freaking me out," Derek replied

"Oh, so you're making jokes now?" said Stiles. "Isn't it hilarious? Stiles isn't talking because someone's been murdered."

Derek took a few moments to make his words work again, "Stiles, I'm sorry about your girlfriend..."

Stiles spluttered. "She wasn't... I mean..." she wasn't and never would have been Stiles' girlfriend because for some reason Stiles kept fantasizing about a particularly emotionally constipated male werewolf, "I only met her yesterday..."

"So, I'm sorry about your friend," Derek interrupted, "I... I don't... Look, I'll stay away from you, but I need to make sure ..."

"I don't want you to stay away!" Stiles snapped before his brain could point out how stupid a thing that was to say.

"It's not your choice," said Derek.

Stiles swore he would have grown claws at that moment if he were capable of it. "If you hate me so much, why the hell have you done all this crap? Why kidnap me? Why didn't you kill me when I had the nogitsune inside me? Why ...?"

He trailed off. Derek was shutting down, his whole face going solid and impenetrable. It was a self-defence mechanism that Stiles recognized. He'd used it for years before he'd discovered self-deprecating humor was better. But then he was more socially adept than Derek. Which was saying something about Derek's social skills.

"Shit," he said.

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek.

"Nope," Stiles replied, staring at Derek in amazement, "I'm never gonna shut up around you. Ever."

"Shut up Stiles!" Derek repeated.

"No way," said Stiles, "because you don't want me to."

"Shut up Stiles," Derek said again, beginning to let some of his panic slip through. Stiles wondered if it was normal for someone to find the discomfort of their crush quite as entertaining as he was currently finding Derek's.

"You don't want me to shut up because you've known me for nearly three years, and during that time I have never once shut up in your presence and that's why you..."

"If you finish that sentence, Stiles, I will gag you."

Stiles grinned, "With your hand or your mouth?"

Derek's growl was really quite impressive.

"Oh my god! This is amazing!" Stiles cried, "All this time I've been all worried about annoying you, and you ripping my throat out, and secretly you've been digging it all along."

"I never said that," said Derek.

"Nah, but you think it!" said Stiles, "that moment earlier. You were so ready to kiss me! I knew it!"

"Shut up Stiles."

"Make me!"

"I would if I could!" growled Derek, but Stiles couldn't help but notice that he'd never once denied it.

"Kiss me," he said. "That'll shut me up. Probably. For the duration of the kiss, anyway."

Derek stepped back.

Stiles' heart plummeted. Had he just managed to completely misread all of that? Did Derek just not know how to turn him down politely? Couldn't think of a way to deny Stiles' accusations without being unkind?

"Scott will be here soon, and he'll take you home and look after you…" Derek trailed off, voice gruff.

Stiles could feel his own face lighting up red, "I was only joking," he said.

Derek nodded. "Yeah, I know."

The werewolf turned away from Stiles, shoulders stiff and tense as they always had been.

Stiles had no idea why he said it, but he did. "No, I wasn't joking."

Derek stilled, but didn't turn back around.

Stiles swallowed, "I know I joke around a lot, but... but... you're, like... this totally stupid, slightly violent asshole and I... I..."

"Stiles," Derek interrupted. "You have to stop."

"I wanted to kiss you, too," said Stiles, amazed at his own bravery. "Earlier, before Peter came in. I wanted you to…"

"Please, Stiles. Stop!"

"Why?" said Stiles. "Don't you... don't you feel..."

"It doesn't matter what I feel," Derek replied, "You know what happens to the people I care about."

Stiles actually rolled his eyes, "What you think you're cursed?"

Derek still didn't turn. "Maybe."

Stiles realized he'd crept toward Derek during this conversation. "Derek, you know you sound completely stupid right now?"

Derek finally spun, shoving Stiles against a wall. Stiles forgot to be scared, he was too busy realizing that this was Derek's own desperate attempt to hide his own feelings.

"Do you know how many people I've killed?" Derek growled at Stiles. "You think the duct tape was a big deal? I was already a murderer then! And after that my list of victims grew longer and longer and..."

"Stop being a martyr, you asshole!" Stiles interrupted. "Peter told me what happened with Paige, and I'm sorry it happened, and yeah, you were stupid, but not evil."

Derek shook his head, hands still pressing Stiles at the wall.

Stiles kept arguing, "And I know what Kate did, but that was her, just her! You cannot be blamed for her being a psycho!"

"Stiles," Derek growled.

Stiles just kept going, "And, so, you picked another crazy? I thought Jennifer Blake was normal, too! I totally believed her whole innocent, hard-working teacher thing. We all did until the second she tried to kill Lydia! Derek, you know me! Apart from a small amount of time when I was possessed by an ancient Japanese demon, I've never acted like a homicidal maniac. You know that, Derek!"

"Where are they now, Stiles?" Derek interrupted, voice harsh, "Where are Paige and Kate and Jennifer? You know so much about them, where are they? Where are my parents, Stiles? My sister, my cousins, my uncles and aunts? Do you want to go the same way? Do you really want to join them?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "What, so you have, admittedly a humungous streak of bad luck, and so you never date again? Is that how your brain works? You've gone through some misery and now you never get to be happy? You're not the only one who's lost people they love, Derek."

Derek's face was barely an inch from his own, brow creased in worry and confusion, eyes glinting with liquid. "Stiles..." he said, aborted attempts at arguments, "Stiles... I can't..."

"Shut up, Derek," said Stiles.

"Stiles..." Derek protested.

"Nope, you don't get to talk until you stop being an idiot," Stiles told him.

Derek almost smiled. At least, compared to his usual expression it was a smile. "If that was a rule for all of us, you'd never get to talk," he said.

Stiles smiled back at him at him, "Ah, but we've already established that you like it when I talk. And talk and talk. And talk. So ... if you're going to stop me, it has to be with something you like even more..."

"Stiles!" Derek scolded.

Stiles brought his hands up between Derek's arms that still held on to his shoulders. He lifted them to Derek's face. His heart was racing. This was crazy. Derek might actually kill him for trying this. But that was probably only a small chance, and the most likely outcome was most definitely worth taking the risk. That was basic math.

He took Derek's face in his hands, and pulled it the extra half inch closer. He stretched his own neck out and touched Derek's lips with his own.

Derek's lips were beautiful; an island of softness in a sea of scratchy stubble. When Stiles' lips found them, he instantly knew he would never have his fill of the feeling. It was unfair just quite how perfect Derek was. Beautiful and strong and fiercely protective and with lips that made Stiles want to melt onto them.

But Derek didn't let it last. He pulled away after too few seconds, pushing Stiles back with gentle hands.

"We can't do this now, Stiles… we… can't…"

"Yes we can," Stiles insisted.

"I mean… we shouldn't," said Derek, "You're a child…"

"Fuck that," said Stiles.

"You're legally a child, and your dad has a gun," said Derek.

Stiles laughed, "Pfft, he doesn't have wolfsbane. Probably."

Derek smiled, "I'm sure he could…"

Derek froze. His nostrils flared. He shivered and his lips formed a snarl.

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

Derek grabbed him, and pulled him flush against his body. Stiles only had a moment to believe his luck had finally changed before he heard a soft, not entirely human laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks if you read and reviewed the last chapter, and thanks if you're following and favouriting. Enjoy! x

The sheriff's face was pure white.

Scott could hear the man's heart pounding. Jittery and fast. His own matched it with empathy.

"We don't know that it's Stiles," Scott said. He'd said it a lot of times. The sheriff hadn't said much in response. "Stiles swears it isn't."

The sheriff shook his head and cleared his throat. It was a heart-breaking sound of internalized grief that the father and officer of the law would never allow himself to share. Whenever he saw how much John Stilinski loved his son, Scott couldn't help but feel jealousy. He had a great mom, but his dad was a waste of air in comparison to the sheriff.

"It fits," the sheriff mumbled. "He disappeared during … during Claudia's wake. I sent out the whole sheriff's department and then some after him, and I wasn't even the sheriff yet. Then Talia Hale shows up, brings him out of her car. He's fast asleep and she said she found him asleep on her porch. I never felt so relieved. I had no reason not to take her word. Shit."

He put his head in his hands, and a wave of misery hit Scott. He could smell the grief and stress and fear on the sheriff and it was toxic. It physically hurt him to smell it.

"I'll protect him, Sir," Scott promised. "I swear, I won't let anything else hurt him."

The sheriff sighed and shook his head, "You're a good kid Scott, and yeah, I know you're an alpha werewolf now, which makes you something special and a leader, but… but you're a kid. It's not your job to protect him." He sighed, deep and sad. "It's mine."

Scott shook his head, "He's my best friend, Sheriff. I'm not going to let him down. I promise."

The sheriff only smiled at him. "Well, we better be getting over to Derek's, then. See what other leads we have."

Scott nodded, sadly.

"I'll just catch up with the forensics team," said the sheriff, "see if there are any clues as to who might have done this. Or what." He let his head drop into his hands. "When did that become a sensible question to ask?"

Scott could only shrug.

"Do you think it might have been a werewolf?" the sheriff asked. "The body didn't look anything like any werewolf attack I've seen before, but I'm hardly an expert."

"I don't think so," said Scott, "It didn't look like claw marks. But there were too many scents where I found her to be sure who killed her."

"So do you think… it's that same thing … the one that's after Stiles?" asked the sheriff.

"It would make sense," Scott replied.

The sheriff nodded, and added, "But we have got until he's eighteen, right? It can't take him until then?"

"I think so," was all Scott could say. He wasn't sure he'd understood Derek's tale, but that was the implication.

"Right," said the sheriff, "right."

He went back to his colleagues, his normal professional face subtly damaged by the worry Scott had delivered him. Scott waited for him, trying to think of ways he could protect Stiles.

…xxx…xxx…

Stiles was shaking in Derek's arms. His breathing was harsh and ragged to Derek's ears, and Derek had no idea how best to protect him.

The air was shifting around them, fizzing, making Derek's skin tingle uncomfortably. The laughter was growing nearer.

"Stiles," a voice cooed.

The room seemed to shift, like the world wasn't quite sure how it was supposed to look.

Derek pulled Stiles closer, searching for the creature, listening for where it was coming from.

"Show yourself!" he shouted, "Don't hide behind smoke and mirrors! Show yourself!"

The voice laughed once again. "I do not take orders from dogs," it said.

"You can't take him!" Derek cried, barely registering the insult. "I won't let you!"

The whole room rattled with the laughter of the creature, and began fading into semi darkness.

"Stiles," the voice cooed again, "do you remember me?"

"No," said Stiles. Brave, brilliant Stiles. He was shaking, he had a hand tight on Derek's arm that surrounded him, as though desperate not to allow Derek to let him go, but he was glaring at the walls, standing straight. "Are you Father Christmas?"

The voice laughed again, but less mocking now. More loving. "Still so brave and playful. Stiles is what they call you now, isn't it? I think your real name is more beautiful."

"Well, beautiful has never really been a priority for me," said Stiles. "I'm all about the people being able to say it thing. And most people would call me sarcastic. It's more accurate than playful."

"I can say your real name," said the voice. "I took it right out of your mind. I read it and heard it in your own thoughts."

"Well, that's a bit creepy, but thanks for trying," said Stiles, fingers shifting on Derek's arms, "Now we were actually in the middle of something, so…"

"Did the dog explain who I am?" the voice interrupted.

Derek growled, though with nothing physical to attack, the sound was redundant.

"Down boy," laughed the voice.

"He's not a dog," said Stiles, coldly, "and no, neither of us know anything about you."

Stiles' head suddenly jerked to the side, as though recoiling from a touch.

"I've come for you, sweet boy," the voice told him, with the simplicity of a customer at a grocery store.

"Well, I'm not for sale," said Stiles, "so, you know, see ya."

"Will you still say that, I wonder, once you have seen my face?" said the voice.

The wall shimmered, and even as Derek pulled Stiles further away from it, through it stepped a pretty and kind looking woman in her late thirties. The same woman the creature had become all those years ago. Stiles' heart seemed to stop at the sight, and it took a few moments before he managed to drag in a breath again.

"Mom," said Stiles.

"That's right, sweetheart," said the woman, her expression sad but hopeful, "you can come be with me, soon. Would you like that?"

"You can't take him!" said Derek.

The woman shook her head, sadly, "Stiles, there's an ancient code, I'm not supposed to take anyone with me unless they're given away. Your father is lonely, and selfish. He'd never let you go, but soon you'll be a man, and you can chose for yourself. You can come and live with me. With your mommy. Wouldn't you like that?"

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. When he spoke, there was a sob in his voice, "You're not her."

"Why do you say that, Stiles?" said the creature, "Don't I look like her, talk like her…"

"You're not her," Stiles repeated, "She died and I miss her and you've stolen her face…"

"I remember teaching you to read," said the creature, with a small, proud smile. "You were such a clever boy, you could never have waited until school. I used to read you so many books, and I'd point out the words and the letters, and when you saw new words you figured out what they were."

Stiles shook his head, shrinking back into Derek.

"I used to make Pierogi, do you remember? Dumplings like Grandma used to make me, and her mom made her," the creature smiled conspiratorially at Stiles, "You took them to kindergarten once for show and tell, but some of the children were mean, and couldn't say Pierogi and called them p-balls, and you came home so upset, and said you didn't want Pierogi anymore, or your name or your heritage." The woman shook her head sadly, as though the memory was still difficult for her. "So I hugged you, and we sat on the couch and I told you about how brave your grandfather was, I told you all about how he travelled here on a great big ship when he was so young, how he was so brave and kind and funny, how even when the people laughed at his voice and couldn't say his name, he was still kind and funny, and found the best people to love. I told you that I called you after him, because I knew you would be the same. People would be ignorant and stupid, but you would find the good ones, the best people to love." She smiled fondly, "You brought Scott home with you the next day, and neither of you would tell me where he lived or who his Mommy was until I'd cooked him Pierogi too. You told me he was one of the good ones, and that we all had to love him now."

Stiles sobbed. Derek could feel his grip loosening, so Derek doubled his own to keep him there. "How do you know all that?"

"Because it's me, sweetheart," said the creature, "I'm in here."

"You're not his mom," Derek growled.

"You don't know that," said the creature.

"She died," said Stiles, "I was with her when she died. This is just cruel."

"She doesn't have to be dead, Stiles," said the creature, "if you come with me, she can be alive and well and with you as much as you want."

"You're not his mom," Derek growled, "Stay away from him!"

"I can be," said the creature, "I can be everyone he needs and loves. And he'll want for nothing. Surely you don't want to deny him that, Derek?"

"What do you want?" Stiles demanded.

The woman stepped forward, face warm and loving and Derek hated it. "I want you, darling. Just you."

"Why?" Stiles hissed. "What do you want me for?"

"To care for," said the creature, "to love, to look after. I can love you, dear child. I can give you a perfect life in a perfect world."

"What are you?" Derek growled.

"I am a fae, of course," said the woman, "I take the unwanted and give them love."

"Stiles isn't unwanted," Derek snapped.

"But he is special," the fae returned. Her eyes drifted back to Stiles, "I would change the rules to have you beside me, sweet one."

Stiles stood straight, and Derek knew he was glaring his best even though he couldn't see it, "And you think pretending to be my mom is the way to win me over?"

The fae shook her head, "I don't know the way to win you. I only know I must."

"Yeah, well," said Stiles, "I'm not going anywhere without a fight."

The fae's eyes drifted around the room. Her hands trailed over the couch and danced through the air. "If I decide to take you, Stiles," she said, without a hint of threat, "I will take you."

"We'll fight you," said Derek, "Look into our heads, see what we have done, the creatures we have fought. We are not defenceless."

The fae's face drifted, swam like a lake. She didn't seem to care about Derek's words. "You don't belong here, Stiles. What do you have here? A father who's obsessed with his job, a best friend who's moved on, an object of affection who loves someone else, and another who is too broken to love you as you deserve. In a few days you will not even be a child, and then you will be free from bonds. Then I will come for you. I promise you will not regret going with me."

Stiles' grip had tightened once more. He clung to Derek's arm desperately, pressed himself back into Derek's body.

"I will not go with you," he said, brave and brilliant despite his fear.

"We'll see," said the creature, calmly. "Good bye for now, sweet one." It leant forward and blew a kiss at Stiles, then shimmered into non-existence, vanishing into the air around them.

A silence reigned for a few moments after it had vanished. Stiles still shivered in Derek's arms, and Derek held as still as he could, straining to hear any sound, feel any breath of air that could suggest it wasn't gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive apologies for the shameful length of time between updates. I'm in the middle of some crazy weeks in rl. I will keep working on this! x  
> Thanks everyone who has commented or left Kudos. It means so much to me!

Stiles didn't want to let go of Derek.

Derek was big. Stiles was tall, tall enough to loom over people sometimes, but Derek was built like a train. Even if it was illusion, having Derek's muscular arms and sculpted chest around him made Stiles feel safe and comforted, so Stiles clung on and clung on. If he wasn't so terrified, it would probably have been a massive turn on. Thankfully, Derek didn't seem to be in a hurry to unwind his arms either.

But Stiles' dad, Scott, Kira, Lydia and Isaac seemed quite perturbed by the whole thing.

"Get your hands off my son," was Stiles' dad's first reaction.

Derek's hands instantly loosened, though hesitated short of actually letting go, but Stiles clung tighter.

"Nope," he said, "Not letting go."

"Stiles," said his dad, in his best 'Dad' voice, that Stiles always obeyed. Or nearly always. Usually at least to his dad's face.

But not today. "No," said Stiles. "Scary woman pretending to be Mom, not letting go for a week."

The assembled all shifted very uncomfortably. Stiles liked to imagine Derek was glaring at them until they backed off, but Stiles couldn't actually see because his face was buried in Derek's chest.

Scott tried next, using a gentle voice that would have been soothing to the most panicked of animals, "I think, maybe…er… Stiles, you know you're clinging to Derek, right?"

Stiles nodded, "Big strong handsome werewolf, yes. Not letting go."

"Er…" Scott said, "Do you mind Stiles clinging to you like that, Derek?"

Derek didn't reply. Stiles imagined he was sending a death glare to Scott.

"OK," said Scott, "so, we'll just… pretend this is normal. Er… what do we know?"

"Well, I think we know Stiles and Derek are going to start sleeping together pretty soon, if they haven't already," said Lydia, helpfully.

Stiles tried to pretend he didn't really like the sound of that. He imagined Derek's death glare had just been turned on Lydia. Foolish Derek, should know he wouldn't win a stare out with Lydia.

"Not helpful, Lydia," grumbled Stiles' Dad.

"OK," said Lydia, with obvious relish, "so I know that Chloe Banks, twenty one, single, lived in a small apartment near down town, worked in the bowling alley. She had just finished college, and had applied for a bunch of other jobs, and called in sick to work today, presumably so she could go to see Stiles, but then Scott found her in an alleyway near where she worked, but apparently there were too many scents for him to get an ID on the killer."

"How did she die?" Stiles asked Derek's chest.

"Her throat was cut," said Scott, "It looked like it was by a knife rather than a claw or something."

Stiles snorted, "Pedestrian. Doesn't sound like the work of a fae."

"Fae?" Scott repeated.

"It comes from the same word as fairy," said Lydia, "There's lots of lore about them from all over the world. Is that what this creature is, Stiles?"

Stiles nodded at Derek's chest.

Lydia made a sound of agreement, "I wondered if it might be something like that. I'll have to check the bestiary, but there are like a zillion Irish legends of fairies taking children."

"How do you know?" asked Stiles, genuinely surprised, twisting his head to look at her.

Lydia smiled, "My parents took me to Europe one summer. We spent a few days in Dublin where we watched a man talking about fairies. He was very interesting, and I was a very curious child."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Is this where we find out that all those ancient folk tales are real? That we're going to meet zombies next? Or a Greek god? Is this going to turn into a series of Supernatural?"

"Only if I get to meet Jared Padalecki," said Lydia.

"Really?" said Stiles, "I would have had you down more as a Jensen Ackles type."

"You know, clinging to Derek's chest sort of detracts from the sarcastic comments," said Isaac.

Stiles poked his head up. This probably wasn't doing his credibility any good. That should probably bother him. But he was not letting go of Derek. And he was not at all certain he was going to get sex out of this. He looked at Derek and said "Do not let go."

Derek raised his eyebrows.

Stiles turned in Derek's arms, firming up their grip with his own hands, until he had his back to Derek's chest but still held Derek's arms around his waist.

He surveyed the surrounding people, all looking thoroughly awkward and standing about the flat. "Er…"

His Dad in particular looked ready to have a heart attack.

"Sorry Dad," he said.

His dad shifted and shrugged and wouldn't quite look him or Derek in the eye.

"That's so much better," said Isaac, dripping with sarcasm. Stiles ignored him, and so did everyone else.

"But the fairies took children," said Lydia, "in all the myths, they take children. It was a way to explain childhood mortality without it sounding so horrible. so why wait until Stiles is eighteen?"

"It said something about ancient laws," said Stiles.

"So it can't take children?" asked Scott.

"Maybe," said Lydia.

"So we've got ten days to kill it."

That was Stiles' dad. Stiles' dad loved him to the point of homicide. Or fae-cide.

"Is that the plan?" said Kira, "I mean, I don't know if it's that simple. Why would it come and warn Stiles, give him a chance to escape or figure it out? Why even tell him what it is?"

"It wants him to want to go," said Derek. "Stiles is no use as a prisoner or a dinner or something. There are plenty of kids and young people it can take. It wants Stiles because it wants Stiles."

Derek's arms got tighter at that, which Stiles was stupidly grateful for.

Except, "It killed Chloe."

Scott nodded, "It looks that way. Sorry Stiles."

"But why?" Stiles asked. "If it wants me, why go after her?"

"Maybe it was worried you'd not want to go if you got into a relationship?" Kira suggested.

"Well, yeah, but…" Stiles looked between Lydia, his father and Derek and Scott. Four people he loved and would never wish to leave. "Yeah, none of you are going anywhere until I'm forty."

"That doesn't mean it will go after us," said his dad, calmly.

"Er, yes it does," said Stiles. "So, we put a big circle of mountain ash around the whole building, all get pointy things and take it in turns to sleep."

"Mountain ash probably won't work on a fae," said Derek.

"Well, what will then?" Stiles snapped, "Because you're not getting your arms back until we know."

Lydia rolled her eyes, "I'll start checking the bestiary."

"Right, good," said Stiles. "And we'll call the hunters, see what they know."

"And Isaac and I can go see Deaton," said Kira.

"Er, no, that's not a good idea. That's two people leaving my presence which is not part of any plan ever," said Stiles.

"Yeah, but you don't really… know me…" said Kira.

Stiles blinked.

"I mean, it wouldn't bother using me for collateral, right? Because you've only known me a few months, most of which you were possessed by a demon?" Kira clarified.

"But…" Stiles started.

"And you don't actually like me," said Isaac, "so, I'd be a crap hostage, too. Or victim. Or whatever."

Stiles looked between them. "Well… I … sure, I don't like Isaac, but Kira's OK."

"We'll be fine, Stiles," said Kira, "if it wants to persuade you to want to go, it knows enough to know we're not gonna sway you either way."

"Bad plan," said Stiles.

Kira smiled, "You agree secretly."

That was probably true, but still a crap argument.

"We'll be back soon," said Kira, "with Deaton or at least his advice."

Stiles puffed out some air, thinking it over. "Can't we just call him?"

"Already tried," said Scott, "no reply." He turned to Kira. "Be careful," he said in a quiet voice.

Kira nodded and smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She made a movement with her head to get Isaac to follow, and stepped carefully out of the loft.

"Er, what's going on there?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing," said Scott.

"Doesn't look like nothing," Stiles pointed out.

Scott shrugged, so Lydia answered for him, scathingly, as she got out the bestiary, and set herself up at Derek's coffee table, "Oh, Scott just needs to work out that when your current girlfriend asks you if you'd choose your ex over them, you say no, no matter what the truth is."

Stiles took a moment to decipher the words and then rolled his eyes. "Scott!"

Scott flushed pink, "The truth is …"

"Only relevant in certain situations," Stiles interrupted.

"Like with your best friend over your sexuality?" said Scott.

Stiles flinched, "Not necessarily," he replied.

"Can we stay on topic, here?" Stiles' dad interrupted, looking a bit purple. "Research, faes, how to stop them taking my son. I need Stiles safe so I can think about how to shoot Derek's balls off and get away with it."

"Right," said Stiles, "Er… please don't."

Dad scowled, "Stiles, research."

"Yes," said Stiles, "Right, laptop."

He looked at the laptop, where he'd left it on the coffee table. Opening it would involve moving away from Derek. Which he did not want to do.

"OK," he told Derek, "So, I'm going over there, you're just going to have to follow."

"Or you could let go," said Dad.

"No he can't," said Stiles.

They shuffled over to the coffee table, and Stiles fished up the laptop. Then he backed Derek up until they got to the couch. He contemplated Derek's lap, but thought that would turn his dad an even more lurid shade of purple, and probably be more dangerously, heart-attack-inducing than a hundred portions of curly fries, so he pushed Derek down and sat next to him, close enough for their thighs to press against each other.

"Ok," said Stiles. "Don't move while I research."

Derek didn't complain.

He searched the files on the laptop, different articles and notes collected by various Hales over a long time. He could hear Lydia doing the same, and Scott and the sheriff starting to make some coffee. He wasn't sure how long they continued in that vein, but he awoke the next day alone on the couch.

He blinked in the low morning sunshine, feeling strangely cold and like something was missing. He shivered with the feeling before springing up in search of Derek.

He knew it made no sense to be craving Derek, to think of him as protection. Derek had had no sway with the creature, shown no ability to fight it. But Stiles still wanted his arms around him. But he knew the comfort didn't simply come from Derek's strength.

"Son," said a familiar voice that Stiles knew and loved.

Stiles wriggled around to get a better look at his father, who was reclined on a chair and watching Stiles careful.

"Dad," said Stiles, "Where's…"

"He's down there," said Dad, quietly, pointing just in front of the couch.

Stiles followed the finger, and popped his head over the edge of the couch. There was Derek, head at an awkward angle against the seat of the couch, having clearly fallen asleep by accident.

"He wouldn't lie down next to you," Dad explained, "And that's one of the few reasons he doesn't have a bullet through his balls."

Stiles' head snapped to his Dad at those words. "Dad!" he cried.

Dad laughed gently. "It's OK. I'm not gonna shoot your boyfriend."

Stiles' mouth dropped open, unsure where to start with that.

Dad shook his head, "I mean, unless he upsets you. But if he does that, I won't be aiming for his balls."

Stiles snorted. "He's not… I mean… I don't… we haven't… talked about that."

Dad frowned, and folded his arms, "Haven't talked about what?"

"About… boyfriend… ness," said Stiles, awkwardly.

"Right," said Dad, running a hand through his hair. "So all the clinging last night…"

"Yeah, not talked about that either," said Stiles, nervously.

Dad nodded her understanding. "Well," he said, "I guess that was one way to come out."

"Oh God," said Stiles, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm sorry."

But Dad was already shaking his head, "Stiles, I don't need apologies. Do you think I'm angry about that?"

"I don't know," said Stiles, "I mean…"

"Stiles," Dad leaned forward in his chair, "I don't care that you're gay, I love you whatever."

"I'm not… I mean, I'm not exactly gay." Stiles scratched the back of his head.

"You mean, you don't fancy Derek?" said Dad, and if anything he sounded hopeful at the idea.

"Er… no, I … I do…" Stiles stumbled. He was messing this up. Did he really have to have this conversation with his dad?

Probably.

"I mean," Stiles tried again, "It isn't something I planned. Or thought about before. I mean, I haven't been drooling over guys in Lacrosse or anything, I mean, until not so long ago, Lydia was the height of beauty style and grace for me, I mean, if she'd actually wanted to be at that prom with me, I'd have totally…"

"Off topic Stiles," said Dad.

"Right," Stiles agreed, "I mean, I never thought about 'men' like that. Just… just… Derek."

"Just Derek?" Dad repeated.

"Yeah, just Derek," said Stiles, more confidently.

Dad cleared his throat, maybe trying to hold back his anger, "So just the twenty five year old werewolf who murdered his uncle, turned four children into monsters, and occasionally broke into both our and Melissa's houses?"

"Well, not not him," said Stiles.

"Do I need to point out all the flaws with this, Stiles?" said Dad.

"I think you might have already picked up on a couple of them," said Stiles.

"Stiles, he's too old for you, he's a werewolf…"

"Now that's ageism and speciesism…" said Stiles. "I mean, if brought Scott home you wouldn't…"

"Scott hasn't killed anyone, Stiles," said Dad.

"Well neither has Derek… on purpose…" Stiles replied.

Dad raised his eyebrows, "He didn't mean to kill Peter?"

"You can't hold him responsible for Peter!" said Stiles, "Peter would have killed Scott and me and Jackson and Allison and he'd already bitten Lydia and…"

"I just want you to be careful," said Dad, "I know you're smart, I know you're brave, I know you're honest and faithful, but you have to be careful!"

"Dad!" Stiles moaned.

"Do you think I'm being unreasonable?" said Dad, "He's a twenty-five year old werewolf, and you're a seventeen year old human. I haven't threatened to kill him… much… I'm just saying, be careful."

"And I will," Stiles replied, earnestly, "but I think he's proven we can trust him."

Dad looked thoughtful for a moment, "Maybe."

"I love you, Dad," said Stiles.

Dad gave a small smile, "I love you, too, kid."

Stiles smiled once more, then sat up. "What's going on? What have we found? Do we know how to stop the fae?"

Dad shook his head, "When you started to fall asleep, we decided to let you rest. Lydia is in Derek's bed, Scott and Derek have been taking it in turns to be on watch, but Derek was trying not to sleep anyway."

"Great job, sourwolf," said Stiles, fondly to the quietly sleeping Derek.

"I'll make us some coffee," said Dad, quietly.

"Thanks, Dad," said Stiles.


	10. Chapter 10

“The problem is,” said Lydia, as she tapped her nails against Derek's table, “that there are too many myths and legends.  Half of them say the fairies only take little kids, half of them are basically ‘be careful what you wish for’ fables, some of them say fairies just do whatever they fancy for fun because they can, but they’re mostly just painted as myths to explain the high child mortality rate before the twentieth century.”

“So those aren’t the right myths,” said Stiles, still going through the collection of notes on the Hale laptop.

“Don’t be so sure; there may be elements of truth in amongst them all,” said Lydia, warningly.  “The whole ‘be careful what you wish for” thing, where the fairies take children when tired parents wish they’d never had them, that would fit with what you said about needing you to want to go.”

“But then why is it hanging around me and trying to freak me out?  Why not go after my dad and try to trick him into wishing me gone?” Stiles pointed out.

This time Derek answered.  He’d been doing a good job of not saying anything to anyone, least of all Stiles’ dad who’d been looking at him much like he had when he’d been arrested for murder, but he couldn't just stay quiet all day.  Stiles’ safety was more important than his pride or shame.

He took a deep breath, “It wants you to want to go,” he said.  “It knows taking you without your consent would be…”

He couldn’t think of the right word.  He knew. Instinctively, that trying to make Stiles do something he really didn’t want to do would be the way to secure your own destruction, even if it took Stiles a little longer than it took the average werewolf.

“Futile?” Lydia suggested, giving him an approving look.

Derek nodded.  It was the closest word he could come up with.

Stiles was watching him soberly, but Derek couldn’t quite meet his eyes.  He had no idea where he and Stiles stood now, except that everyone was assuming they were together.  Which couldn’t be true, for many, many reasons.

“But it has threatened to take him anyway,” Derek said, “Twice.  So we still need a way to defend against a fae, or… kill it.”

Scott coughed.  He looked at Derek with his serious face, which Derek knew was going to annoy him. “We don’t need to kill anyone,” Scott said.

Derek glared at him, “We can’t take any risks.”

Scott glared back.  “We don’t kill people,” he said.

The others fidgeted around them.  Derek realized someone else had suggested something similar yesterday, and Scott hadn’t felt the need to argue. 

Derek glared harder.

“We protect people,” said Scott, “so we’ll protect Stiles.  We didn’t kill Deucalion, we don’t need to kill the fae.”

Derek fought his heard learned lessons of submitting to the alpha.  “Deucalion had lost his entire pack, he was no longer a threat.”

“The fae will not be a threat if we can hold it back,” Scott growled.

“And if we can’t?” Derek growled back.

Scott folded his arms, “We will.”

Now trying to hold back both the instinct to submit and the desire to rip Scott’s throat open, Derek growled, “I will do whatever it takes to keep Stiles safe.”

“You’re not the only one that cares about Stiles,” said Scott.

Which managed to embarrass Derek, but didn’t change anything.  If he had to, Derek would kill anyone he needed to protect Stiles. 

“This macho standoff stuff isn’t helping,” said Lydia, “If you’ve got nothing better to do, you’ll have to read the other legends or… train or something.”

“I’m not leaving Stiles,” said Derek, then growled at Scott because he’d said the same thing.

“Then do something useful here,” said Lydia.

Derek gave Scott an extra glare, and then turned back to the group.  He didn’t fail to spot the little smile Stiles sent his way.

In some ways that was worse.

“What about Isaac and Kira?” said Lydia.

“Kira called last night,” said Scott, standing down from the confrontation, “She said Deaton was working on something.  She and Isaac are staying there to help him.”

“Did she share anything else?” asked Lydia, “Like exactly how much Deaton actually knows?”

“Not really,” said Scott, apologetically.

“Kira didn’t share or you don’t feel like sharing?” asked Derek.

“Derek,” Stiles said warningly.

“Well it wouldn’t be the first time we found that Scott was hiding things,” Derek said defensively.

“Not about this,” said Stiles, with such confidence that Derek flared with jealousy.  His eyes probably flashed blue.  Did Stiles trust Scott to protect him more than he trusted Derek?

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Derek grumbled.

“Check the perimeter?” said Stiles, “You mean you’re gonna walk around your building?”

Derek grumbled and stamped his way to the door.  He knew Stiles was going to follow him, because that was the sort of thing Stiles did.

“Stiles, go back to your research,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles laughed at him, actually laughed, “Yeah, I don’t do what you tell me, remember?  It’s another one of the many reasons you like me.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “Unless I threaten physical violence,” he said, “then you always do exactly as I tell you.”

“Ah, but now I know you’d rather rip your own throat out than mine,” Stiles said with a smirk.  “So…”

“Yeah, and pretty much everyone I ever cared about is dead,” Derek replied, “so don’t count on it.”

“Moody bastard,” said Stiles.  “What was all that about anyway?  Why are you trying to pick a fight with Scott?”

“Nothing,” Derek grumbled.  “I’m not picking a fight.”

“Good, because he’s my bro, you know?” said Stiles, for some reason now just content to walk beside Derek on the way out of the building.

“Bro?” Derek repeated in a growl.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, easily, “he’s my best friend, always has been, always will be…”

“Do you love him?” Derek growled, terrified now that Stiles would choose Scott "hopelessly in love with a dead girl" McCall’s side.

“Yes, obviously,” Stiles replied, easily, making Derek’s stomach twist horribly.  Thankfully, Stiles continued, “But not in a ‘bend him over the back of the sofa’ way.  ‘Cause that would be weird.  And basically incestuous.”

Derek felt a little knot inside of him untie itself at that.  But that didn’t change anything.  Derek wanted to push Stiles against a nearby wall and do whatever it took to make him delirious with pleasure.  But he wanted Stiles to be safe and happy more, and he could be neither of those things with Derek.

“Go back inside,” said Derek, as coldly as he could.

“No,” said Stiles, a little grin on his face that Derek had to work hard not to call adorable.

“Stiles, I told you to go back inside,” said Derek, “it’s not safe…”

“Nowhere is safe, Derek,” said Stiles. “It proved that last night, didn’t it?  All we have is each other to cling to.” Stiles smiled, “But clinging to each other is fun, so … you know.”

Derek grunted, because he couldn’t quite answer and he couldn’t quite deal with it.

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles snapped, suddenly angry.

Derek looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Stiles poked him in the shoulder, “Don’t you dare!  Don’t you even think about it!”

“What?” Derek mumbled.

“If you even think about going back into silent grumpy mode again, I will…. Well, I won’t let you!”

“Stiles…” Derek tried, but Stiles grabbed his arm and pushed him round so they were face to face.

“You like me!” Stiles growled, “I will not let you go back to pretending you don’t!”

“I’m not going to…”

“Or try to tell me that for some reason, however much you want to kiss me, you can’t,” Stiles snapped, “I like you, you like me!  There is nothing that can make that not true, no way of putting the cat back in the bag.  Either you give up and kiss me now, or I kiss you and you give up then.  It’ll save a lot of time if you just kiss me.”

Derek looked at Stiles.  He did want to kiss Stiles, obviously.  But… “Stiles, I can’t…”

“Eugh, fine” said Stiles. 

He leaned forward and touched his lips to Derek’s.  Derek knew he should push Stiles away, physically and emotionally.  He should stop Stiles making such a huge mistake with his life. 

“Stiles,” Derek protested, but it was barely more than a whisper, a moan against Stiles’ lips.  “You’re too young…”

“Mmm,” said Stiles, dipping in for more kisses, “Ordinarily…” he kissed the corner of Derek’s mouth, “I’d agree…” he kissed the other corner, “Don’t want Dad to feel all paternal and put you in jail or shoot your balls off, we should wait ‘til it’s legal and all that…” he put his hand behind Derek’s neck, the other one in Derek’s hair, “But we might only have like ten days…” he nibbled at Derek’s lips, “so I….” he licked the spot he’d nibbled, “am making the most of it…”

He tugged Derek closer, using his grip on Derek’s neck as a handle, and sealed his lips over Derek’s, tongue demanding to enter Derek’s mouth.  Derek growled.  He shoved Stiles away from him, wincing as Stiles pulled some of his hair with him.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Stiles shouted.

This time he actually jumped at Derek, grabbed on to Derek’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips, while Derek, in surprise, caught him, but stumbled back a few steps.

“Bad dog,” said Stiles.

Derek growled and slammed him against the wall.  “Don’t call me dog!”

“Then shut me up, Derek,” Stiles whined, “Come on!  Fuck me!  Come on!”

Derek groaned.  Stiles could rile him up perfectly.  He could make him want to fuck him even when he wanted to rip his throat out. 

“You might not have a lot of chances, Der,” Stiles warned, “Come on!”

“I’m not fucking you in the hallway of my building,” Derek growled.

“Yeah, but there are people in your loft,” Stiles moaned.

“I don’t even have a condom,” Derek complained.

Stiles moaned with annoyance. 

“Or lube,” said Derek.

Stiles pouted. 

Derek wanted to nibble on that lip, but it probably wouldn’t help his argument.

“We should go back,” he breathed instead.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, “Your cock is literally rock solid, and you want to go into a room with my dad?”

Derek groaned.  It was true, his cock was straining with desire, but then so was Stiles’.  Derek could feel it pressing at his belly.  “It’ll go away,” he mumbled, though with Stiles so close, smelling so hot and delicious, it wouldn’t be easy to persuade it to wilt.  Even the mention of the sheriff hadn’t worked.

“Or…” said Stiles, “I could just...” He licked his lips.  And Derek’s brain short circuited.

He kissed Stiles thoroughly.  Stiles returned just as thoroughly, and dropped his legs to the ground and a hand to Derek’s pants.  Derek growled in warning, but Stiles just pulled away from the kiss with a grin, and dropped down, lowering himself to his knees, hand still on Derek’s pants.

Derek groaned.  “Stiles, we can’t…”

“Don’t you want me to suck you?” Stiles whispered.  “Don’t you want my mouth on your cock?”

There was nothing Derek wanted more right now.  All he could see was that sinful mouth, those big eyes.  His cock seemed to hum at the idea.  But it was not OK.  This was taking advantage of Stiles’ fears.

“Tell me you don’t want to,” whispered Stiles, hands dancing around Derek’s fly, “I’ll stop if you say that you don’t want to.”

Derek groaned and closed his eyes against the beautiful image Stiles made, “Stiles, you don’t want …”

“No, tell me you don’t want to,” said Stiles, “It’s my business what I want to do.”

“I can’t take advantage of you, Stiles,” Derek insisted, “You’re scared, you’re looking for…”

“Derek, do you really think that you could take advantage of me?” Stiles returned, “You think I’m so easily manipulated?”  Stiles pulled down Derek’s fly and pushed his underwear just low enough that his cock could be released.  There was no denying Derek’s interest now.  “You haven’t once threatened to rip my throat out, so I think we can take this as an entirely consensual activity.”

“Stiles…” Derek protested once again.

“I’m going to suck your cock now,” said Stiles, “So… you know… enjoy it.”

He did.  It would take a far stronger man than Derek to push Stiles away.  And it was bliss.  It felt perfect and beautiful and perfect.  Stiles made beautiful noises that made Derek quiver with desire and need. 

Afterwards, Stiles stood and kissed him again.  Derek had never felt so vulnerable.  This teenage boy had pulled him apart, and though Derek could pick Stiles up with one hand, he’d never felt quite so owned.  He couldn’t have denied Stiles anything.

Stiles took his hand, and lead him back to the loft, back to where they were all still researching or drinking coffee, or in Scott’s case, glaring harder than ever.  Derek couldn’t help but feel smug, knowing he and Stiles both smelt of cum.

“Finally,” said Lydia, “I’ve found something.”

“What?” asked Stiles.

“Fairy repellent,” said Lydia with a grin.  “Iron and St Johns wort.”

“Iron and St Johns wort?” Stiles repeated.

Lydia nodded, “Apparently St Johns wort is a flower that will keep fairies away.”

“Right,” said Stiles, “Like garlic and vampires?”

“And if you carry iron in your pocket, they can’t carry you away,” said Lydia.

“Like how silver poisons werewolves?” said the sheriff, skeptically.

“Or maybe like how wolfs bane actually poisons werewolves,” said Lydia.  “It’s worth a shot, right?  I've got a few more things I want to check, but they shouldn't be too hard to get hold of, right?”

“Maybe,” said Stiles, “Derek and I can…”

“I’ll go,” said Scott.  “Stiles, you and me, like old times.”

“Oh,” said Stiles, glancing at Derek, with flattering longing.  “Actually, Derek kind of owes me a favor, so…”

“Come on, Stiles!” said Scott, “I want to talk.”

“Subtle, Scott,” said Lydia.

“But… we don’t even know where we’re going…” said Stiles.

”How about a garden center?” said Scott, “they’ll have that flower, won’t they?  Then we can stop at a hardware store…”

“I’m not letting Stiles out of my sight,” grumbled Derek.

Scott glared at him, “I’m an alpha, Derek,” he said, “I’m stronger, faster and more powerful than you.  Who is Stiles safer with?”

Even as he imagined ripping Scott’s throat out, Derek knew it was true.

“I’ll go too,” he said, coldly.

Stiles cleared his throat, “Well… I need someone to stay with… Dad and Lydia,” he said.

“We don’t need baby-sitting, Stiles,” said his dad.  “I have a gun.”

“Which we don’t know will even work on a fae,” said Stiles, “And… I think, if we’re right about this… I think you’re in more danger than I am right now.”

The statement left an uneasy atmosphere.  The thought of Chloe, poor dead Chloe, still scared them all. 

“I mean,” Stiles clarified, “if it’s going after my reasons to stay…” he shivered, “Derek, please, I need you to look after my dad.”

Derek didn’t want to agree.  He didn’t want Stiles even out of his sight.  He wanted to keep Stiles close.  But he couldn’t deny that expression.  Stiles needed him to do something, something so important, and Derek couldn’t let him down.

He nodded.

Stiles smiled at him, so grateful.  Scott instantly smelled of a gross smugness that Derek wanted to throw out of an open window.  The two teens made their farewells, and Derek watched his love walk out of his loft with a heavy heart and fear unlike any he’d known.

“So,” said the sheriff, taking out his gun and giving it a completely unnecessary once over with a handkerchief, “Derek,” he lifted his hard eyes in Derek’s direction, “Tell me about this favor that you owe my son.”

 ...xxx...xxx...

Stiles was kind of blown away by his own daring.  It was like someone had stolen all his inhibitions and replaced them with a great dollop of self-confidence that years as the ‘weird, skinny, hyperactive kid’ should have killed stone dead.  There were probably two main reasons for this sudden transformation.  One was the complete irrelevance his inhibitions seemed to take on in the immediate threat of a slow and painful death, or possible eternity as the slave of a supernatural being.  The other was Derek Hale.

Derek Hale, a six foot wall of heavenly, rock-solid muscle and grizzly sideburns and piercing pale eyes and abs that Stiles would never stop staring at and perfect ass and thighs like…

OK, so Stiles had lost most of his inhibitions, but while getting into the jeep with Scott was probably not the best time to get a hard on.  Or smell of arousal.  If people could smell of arousal to werewolves.  Which you probably could, if you could smell of a struggle or whatever it was Scott said.

Stiles tried to pull himself together.  Which was hard when his brain was whirling between sex with Derek and escaping the fae, two contrasting ideas that each tried to dominate.  And somehow, Derek was winning.

He blamed it on being a sex starved teenager.

“Dude!” Scott groaned, “stop!”

“Stop what?” said Stiles, as he hesitated with the keys in the jeep’s ignition.

“Stop thinking about sex!” Scott groaned, voice dropping to an embarrassed whisper as he spoke, “it’s totally gross.”

So that answered that question.

“Sorry dude,” he said, starting the jeep, and putting it in gear, “but seriously, Derek Hale, the kind of guy that could make it as an underwear model wants to … er…”

Scott was growling at him.  Actually growling.  A quick glance at the passenger side showed Stiles that Scott’s eyes were glowing red.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, “I listened to poetry about Allison, Scott.  I even had to recite it to her.  You can handle me thinking!”

“There’s a difference!” Scott grumbled.

“No, there really isn’t,” said Stiles.

“Dude, Allison never beat me up!” Scott replied.

“Er, she shot you,” Stiles pointed out as he drove out of town in the direction of a garden center.  “With arrows.  And Derek, Erica, Isaac and Boyd.  And weren’t you being all over-protective of Allison when Lydia was attacked and I was kidnapped?”

“By Derek’s uncle!” Scott cried.

Stiles shot him a look.  “Seriously?  We're talking about family now?  One word, dude: Kate.  And another: Gerard.”

“Stiles, he’s a douchebag!” Scott countered.

“And you’re a poo-poo head!” Stiles replied, disproportionately upset by someone insulting Derek, but still wanting to call Scott out on being a kid about this.

Scott looked genuinely confused for a moment.  Stiles nearly laughed.

“Scott, stop being a douche,” said Stiles.  “Let it go, you know?  You’re only grumpy because he argued with you.”

“Am not!” said Scott.

“He’s allowed to think about contingency plans, Scott,” Stiles argued.  “If the fae doesn’t give up…”

“I’m not gonna let it take you, Stiles!” said Scott, angrily, “You’re my best friend!”

“I know, dude,” said Stiles, “I know, it’s mutual.”

“Is it?” Scott asked.

“Well, yeah!” Stiles cried, “Do you think there’s anyone else I’d run across campus to deliver love letter letters for?”

Scott fidgeted in his chair, and looked out the window.  Surely he could tell Stiles wasn’t lying?  Surely he knew he and Stiles would be best bros forever!  “Well…” said Scott, “I mean…”

“Oh my God!” cried Stiles, “You’re jealous!”

“No!” said Scott, with just too much speed and enthusiasm, which characterized all Scott’s failed attempts at lying.

“You so are!  You think I’m gonna run off with Derek and not remind you when your biology papers a due in!”

“No!” said Scott, still lying.

“Aw, dude,” Stiles grinned, “don’t be embarrassed, I’m awesome!”

“I’m not embarrassed!” Scott protested.

“Scott, it’s cool.  Derek loves me, you love me, some supernatural creature loves me.  I get the message.  I rock.  I'm like the perfect example of humanity.  I’m getting used to it.  But don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head.”

“You‘re a dick,” said Scott.

“Nope, you know I rock,” Stiles told him, “Don’t worry, I have never once and never ever would think of you as a sexual being.  That would be gross.”

“Stiles!”

“I know,” said Stiles, “It’s a sad disappointment…”

“Stiles, we’re here…”

“I’m perfect in every way, but you’re just gonna…”

“Stiles!” Scott snapped. 

Stiles blinked at him.  He turned the jeep around and went back to the missed exit to the garden center, and parked in the customer parking lot.

“Come on dude,” said Scott.

“I’ll just call Derek,” said Stiles.

Scott rolled his eyes.  “We’ve been like three minutes.”

Stiles just shrugged at him.  He didn’t like the idea of Derek, his Dad and Lydia being any distance from them right now.

He pulled out his phone, and called Derek, who picked up after half a ring.

“Stiles, what’s going on?”

“Whoa!” Stiles cried, amazed by the terrified edge to Derek’s voice.  “What’s wrong?” he cried.

“Are you alright?” Derek demanded, hurriedly, worriedly.  Stiles could hear Dad in the background, too, asking if everything was OK, if Stiles were in danger.

“I’m fine,” said Stiles.  “I wanted to be sure you guys were OK.”

He heard Derek take a calming breath.  “It’s fine,” Derek told the others round him, “he’s just checking in.”

“Aw,” said Stiles, “were you all worried about me?”

Derek growled.

“Aw, I was worried about you too,” Stiles told him.

Scott rolled his eyes, “We’re going in now, Stiles,” he said.

Stiles nodded at him, “Is everything alright with my dad?” he asked Derek.

Derek coughed uncomfortably.  “We’re fine,” he said, voice stunted with tension.

Stiles laughed at the stiff, awkward reply. “Has he threatened to kill you?”

Derek coughed again, “It’s all quiet,” he said, “nothing scary.”

Stiles laughed again.  “Can he hear?”

“Yes,” Derek growled.

“But not me?” Stiles asked.

“Don’t even think about it,” Derek hissed, threateningly.

“He can’t hear me telling you how much I love your abs?” Stiles asked.

“Stiles!”

“How I want to run my tongue…”

“He might not, but I can!” grumbled Scott.

Stiles laughed.  “I’m making Scott feel uncomfortable,” said Stiles.

“You’re making everyone uncomfortable,” said Derek.

“Not in the same way,” Stiles grinned.

“You've a flower to buy,” Derek grumbled instead of replying, "hurry up!"

“Aw, you miss me already.”

“Stiles!” Derek and Scott grumbled at exactly the same moment, making Stiles laugh out loud.

Scott grabbed his cell.  “He’ll see you later, Derek,” he said into it, then ended the call, ignoring Stiles’ complaint, and dragging him into the store.

“Seriously” Scott grumbled, “You’re worse than me!”

“No way man,” said Stiles, “I'm never gonna be worse than you.  It's not physically possible.”

Scott gave him a look that was clear in meaning, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Come on then.  St Johns Wort.  We better ask someone, I don’t even know what it looks like.”

Scott nodded.  He smiled at a passing attendant, and asked them, spilling some story about an old aunt who wanted it.  Stiles followed dreamily, thinking about Derek’s abs waiting for him back at the loft.

There were a few customers around him, as he drifted along, following Scott.  Mostly they were middle aged or elderly and they smiled as he passed, said good morning.  Stiles smiled back, awkwardly as he was dragged from his thoughts of Derek’s chest covered in honey.

“Penny for them?” said a voice to the side.

“What?” said Stiles, snapping his head that way.

An old lady was holding a blossoming plant like she had been examining it carefully. “Penny for them,” she repeated, “It’s a phrase.  It means, what are you thinking about?”

“Oh,” said Stiles, blushing, “er… it’s kind of…”

“Personal?” said the old lady with a smile.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, hoping he wasn’t bright red.

“Well, I won’t intrude,” said the old lady with a smile.  “But I don’t suppose you could spare a moment to help me, young man?”

“Sure,” said Stiles, warily keeping an eye on Scott who was drifting further ahead.  "Though I don't know anything about plants."

“I was buying this for my grandson,” said the old lady, “he’s just got a new place, in the city, you know, and I wanted him to have something green.  Do you think he’ll like this?”

“Er… sure,” said Stiles, thinking if he himself were buying a new place, he’d want cash over plants any day.

“You don’t think the smell’s too overpowering, do you?” said the old lady.  “I mean, my nose isn’t what it was…”

“No, it’s fine,” said Stiles, “I should catch up…”

“Could you just smell it for me, young man?” the old lady asked, “Just to put my mind at ease?”

Stiles looked around.  He could still see Scott, who had just noticed he'd fallen behind and had turned to wait for him.  “Sure,” said Stiles.  He dipped his head into the flower the lady held and sniffed.

He knew instantly it was a mistake.

He could feel the scent pulled into him as he sniffed, until it filled him up.  His vision went the color of the flowers; a misty purple, and his head went muffled.  He could hear a worried voice calling his name, but it was like hearing underwater.  He had no idea where it came from, or how to reach it.

Then suddenly it cleared, but he wasn't in the garden center.  Instead, he was in a beautiful garden, surrounded by sweeping trees and willowy bushes, flowers in every color and warm sunshine caressing his face.

"Shit," he said.

He took a good long look around him.   The plants were all around him, beautiful and majestic.  Through them he could see more plants, and more and more.

"You know," he told the world at large, "When I was a kid, and my parents used to read me stories, and the wicked witch would try and trick the princess eat an apple or prick her finger or something, I always thought they were stupid.  But seriously?  Smelling flowers?"

A gentle breeze made the flowers dance.  Stiles thought he heard laughing.

"I mean, I guess you don't want me anymore?" he said, "if I'm stupid enough to fall for that, surely I'm not worth shit."

"Not at all," said a familiar voice, "I think it shows how well raised you were, that you'd take time to help out an old lady."

Stiles span to look at the voice.  He folded his arms at the new arrival.  "Well, it's an improvement on my mom, but still pretty shitty move, bitch."

The fae-that-looked-like-Erica shook her head, letting her magnificent blond curls shimmy around her.

"I just wanted to talk," she said, "just the two of us, me and you.  They'll figure out how to get you back in no time, but I wanted you to see what you could have."

Stiles made a show of looking around himself, "Great, a garden from a period drama, thanks," he said, "Can I go home now?"

Erica stepped closer.  "Don't you see what it means?" she said.  "I want you, Stiles, as a friend, a lover, a companion.  You're funny and clever and beautiful.  You would make me very happy."

"You know," Stiles interrupted, "Erica didn't even slightly sound that philosophical."

Erica laughed, "And in return I can be anyone you want.  A friend," she shifted into Allison.  It was so painful to watch Stiles almost didn't dare to look, "a loved one," the fae shifted in Stiles' Mom again, "an object of affection," she shifted again, this time into Lydia.

"Stop it!" snapped Stiles.  "I still have Lydia!  She's still my friend."

"But you can't have them both," said the fae, as it shifted into Derek.  "If you stay on Earth you'll have to choose between them."

Stiles wanted to be sick.  It was a horrid argument.  "If I come with you I'll have neither!" he protested.

"You'll have both!" said the fae, "and your mom and your dad and anything you could ever dream of."

"No," said Stiles, "I'd have one crazy arse bitch with a personality disorder.  I want to go home now."

"Stiles," said the creature, morphing once more, "do not underestimate what I am offering you.  If you refuse me, my mother is like to get angry."

"Like to get angry?" Stiles repeated, "What does that even mean?"

"If you choose to offend the fae, there's no telling what will happen," warned the creature, now appearing as a beautiful, terrible creature that Stiles could barely describe. 

But Stiles wasn't easily mollified.  "No telling like you're in the magician's circle, or...?"

The fae grew in height and terror.  Stiles shivered at the sight.  It was awesome and awful, showing him exactly why those two words were from the same root.

"The wrath of the Fae is a terrible thing, Stiles," the monster told him, its voice piercing his head like a weapon, "and if one human should risk our displeasure, more shall pay the price."

Stiles wanted to back away, to run, to hide, but he was glued to the spot with terror.

"If you insult us, if you reject our offer as though it were nothing, we will show you the power of our kind!  The destruction we can wreak on your homes and your families.  The misery we can bestow upon those who defy us would turn you to a quivering mess of fear."

Stiles was barely a step from that right now.

"Beware, child," said the fae, calming, shifting once again to something simpler, something that could walk down a street without making the whole neighborhood piss their pants, "I will return on the anniversary of your birth.  I expect you to accept."

Stiles shook.  He took responsibility for things that terrified him all the time: finding killers, solving mysteries, but this was too much.  Being asked to sacrifice himself when he had just found Derek.  "But why?" he said, "I'm a little shit!  Everyone says I'm annoying! I get on everyone's nerves!  I've got the attention span of a two year old! Ow!"

His arm stung very suddenly.  He looked down at it.  A very shallow line had appeared, not quite breaking the skin but leaving a raised white line.

"Think on it," said the monster.

"Wait!" Stiles cried, "Please don't... Ow!"

Before his very eyes another scratch had appeared on the flesh of his arm.  This one brought crimson blood to the surface in a short line and he hissed with pain.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has taken time to read/comment/bookmark/leave kudos. It means a lot.  
> More is written.


	11. Chapter 11

"Ow!" Stiles said again, more out of annoyance than pain.

"Stiles!" cried Scott, his worried face looming into the Stiles' vision.

"You're welcome," someone sneered from above where Stiles lay on the dirty floor of the garden center.

"What the..." Stiles tried, looking at the very real line of blood on his arm, "Who tried to cut my arm off?" he demanded, indignantly.

"Peter," said Scott, with a grimace, "he said it would wake you up..."

"It did wake him up!" grumbled Peter, "See? He's all awake and talking to you, unlike after your pathetic attempt."

"I'm sorry I don't find pleasure in inflicting pain on the people I care about!" Scott snapped.

"Wait, that woman!" cried Stiles, "she was..."

"She's normal," said Scott, "I smelled her; she's human. She's over there, and crying."

Stiles turned. It was true, the little old lady that gave him the flower to sniff was not too far away, sobbing onto the shoulder of an alarmed looking shop assistant.

"She said that she just picked the plant up off the shelf and liked it," said Scott. "I don't know, maybe it tricked her?"

Deciding he wasn't in the mood for jokes about plants tricking old ladies, Stiles asked "What happened?" He shivered even as he asked.

"You smelled a plant and fell over," Peter supplied. "It was a very impressive display of incompetence."

"Thanks, I got that much," Stiles replied. "Where's the plant?"

"Here," said Scott, pointing beside him. "We'll take it to Deaton."

"What did you see, Stiles?" asked Peter.

Stiles shivered. He'd seen more than he'd ever wanted. And he feared he was going to have to leave with the fae when it asked him.

"It tried to… persuade me," he said.

He looked at his audience. It wasn't a lie, but two werewolves could smell deception, or so Peter liked to tell him.

Scott frowned at him, worriedly. Peter quirked his eyebrows. "What form of persuasion did it use?" the older wolf asked, watching Stiles carefully.

"The usual," said Stiles, breezily, "Threats of extreme violence. You'd have been proud. Actually, what are you doing here, anyway?"

Peter smirked, "As I said to our dear friend, here, as a normal grown up with their own home, I was doing as most people do in a garden center; shopping for gardening supplies."

Stiles frowned, "I thought you said you lived in an apartment downtown."

Peter raised his eyebrows, apparently more amused by Stiles' disbelief than concerned. "I'm a werewolf; I'm allowed to appreciate greenery."

"I can't tell if he's lying," said Scott, "it didn't seem as important as waking you up."

This time Peter rolled his eyes, "I just saved your best friend, Scott; you'd think it would get me some credit."

"You scratched me on the arm," Stiles grumbled, "that doesn't make you a trustworthy person."

Peter smirked at him, "Why do you smell of my nephew's..."

"I think we've done all we can, here," interrupted Scott, "I'll pay for this iron doorstop and that plant and this plant that the assistant thinks is the same family as St John's Wort, and we'll get going shall we?"

"Good idea," said Stiles, clambering to his feet, in an effort to get away from Peter.

Unfortunately, it didn't work, because Peter just followed, smirking, "St John's Wort and iron," said Peter, thoughtfully, "that suggests you think this is a fairy."

Stiles supposed he should be pleased that Peter had let the other question drop.

"It called itself a fae," said Stiles.

"Hmm, that's because they're aware of the concept of fairy stories," said Peter, conversationally, "it saves time when they don't have to explain that they have no inclination to grant wishes or make dresses for parties and the like. Not to mention the insistence of some people to use the term for gay men."

Stiles turned back to the werewolf, "Hang on, if you know so much, why didn't you tell us when we first asked?"

"How could I possibly know you were being stalked by a fairy?" Peter sneered.

Stiles thought about the promises of destruction the fae had uttered, and decided he was not going to be belittled by Peter's tone. "Come on then, Professor Wolf, what do we need to know about fairies?" he demanded irritably.

Peter hummed, thoughtfully, and put his head on one side, "Immensely powerful beings who do not like to be disappointed. I'd say be scared, but I can tell that you already are."

Stiles shook his head with annoyance, "Anything else? Maybe something helpful this time?"

"Avoid circles of fungi," said Peter.

"Thanks," Stiles replied, hoping sarcasm would smell disgusting to a wolf.

Peter put a hand on his shoulder and turned him back so they were face to face, "Stiles," he said, "as hard as this may be to believe, there is not one part of me that wants you dead or gone. I will do everything in my power to protect you from this threat."

"Er… thanks?" said Stiles, "Though, you'd think, if that were a real sentiment, you'd show up when we're doing research and stuff." He started to walk away again, following Scott.

"You want me to come help research?" said Peter, amiably, "I was rather under the impression my presence would cause discomfort."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that," said Stiles.

Peter smiled at him, "It's a comfort to know terror still hasn't diminished your sarcasm."

"You're calling my sarcasm a comfort," said Stiles, turning to Peter with narrowed eyes, "You're up to something."

But Peter only smiled at him, almost kindly, "You wouldn't expect anything less," he told Stiles happily.

"No, but I could have hoped," said Stiles, turning away from him again, and walking beside Scott, who was giving Peter a warning glare, left the store.

"He's such a creep," Scott mumbled.

"Can't he still hear you?" Stiles asked.

"Sure he can," Scott replied, "I'm hoping it might help him change his ways."

"Yeah, what are the chances of that?" Stiles rolled his eyes, "I bet he's laughing at this conversation."

Scott shrugged. "So, did you see anything else? Like, when you went unconscious, did you have a dream or something?"

Stiles hesitated for a moment. He hadn't decided how much he should share yet. The thought of the fae's transformations sent dread, cold and horrid, through him, and the words… the words may be too much. But sometimes he underestimated Scott, who noticed his hesitations.

"You did?" Scott cried, "What did you see?"

"It doesn't matter," Stiles protested.

Scott didn't let it go, "But dude! It could be a clue!"

Stiles groaned, "Scott, just … just let me think, OK? I'll tell you what I can when I understand it. It was probably just a dream, anyway."

Scott wasn't good at taking hints, "But did you see the fae?" he asked, all childish over-excitement.

"I don't know," said Stiles, and it wasn't really a lie, because he couldn't know for sure whether it was the fae or a dream, "I've got things I need to research, can we get back?"

Scott wasn't fooled. It was probably a side effect of them knowing each other for so long. "OK," he said, "but, Stiles, you need to tell me. You know nothing good ever comes of keeping secrets."

Stiles didn't reply. That wasn't completely true. He'd never told Scott exactly what had happened when he was kidnapped by Gerard, and that had worked out, as had Scott's plan to defeat the psychotic grandfather, which Scott hadn't shared with anyone but Deaton.

He drove them back to Derek's in silence, thinking about the fae's message. He would have to research the fae's habits, find out if there were records of mass damage performed by the fae. It seemed impossible; the fairies were goodies. In fairy tales they were always helping girls go to balls or flying around playing with children, but they had magic. And Stiles had no reason to believe they didn't do evil things with it.

...xxx…xxx…xxx…

Derek had had some of the most uncomfortable hours of his life. He'd answered the sheriff's questions as honestly and as succinctly as possible, holding in his anger at the man's suggestions that he was, in some way, a pedophile. It was probably a reasonable accusation. Stiles was a kid, however he behaved and whatever Derek may feel for him.

Derek's only defence was that he had done nothing to pursue Stiles, that all he wanted was Stiles safe, and that as soon as he could be sure of that, he would back off. He decided that as soon as this was over, he would confess what had happened in the hall way. Derek would probably go to jail for it. He would be hated, but at least then Stiles would be safe from him. Of course, he had to wait. There was no way in hell he was letting Stiles face this without help. Lying to the cops was child's play to that. He'd break out of jail, kidnap the boy and run to Mexico if he had to.

Lydia had sat through the whole thing with nothing but vague amusement on her face. She seemed to be researching, but Derek knew she was listening. He'd growled at her to get on with it a lot of times.

She'd just raised a perfectly maintained eyebrow and said, "No need to grumble at me, it's your own fault you took years to notice how you felt about Stiles."

Derek just growled again, and worried about how much worse it would have been had he acted on his feelings earlier.

The sheriff gave him another look of deep suspicion.

Lydia called Kira to catch up with Deaton's plans, but didn't get a response. Which again Derek found incredibly infuriating. He'd have gone down himself to check on them if he hadn't promised Stiles he'd stay to watch out for the sheriff and Lydia. He called Isaac himself instead, and got no response.

After what felt like years, Stiles returned with Scott in tow and smelling of Peter and blood.

Derek leapt at him, furiously, sniffing his way around Stiles' body to find the cut on his arm.

"What did he do? What happened? If he's hurt you..."

Stiles hushed him, with an odd smile playing on his lips. "No one's hurt me," he whispered, "I'm fine. Peter just woke me up."

That fuelled double the questions it answered. Stiles hurried to explain, with interjections from Scott. He claimed it was a type of prank, that the fae had tricked someone to make Stiles fall asleep in the store. It was probably some sort of power play, Stiles told them, designed to make them worry. The best thing to do was keep researching.

Of course the flower Scott had picked up wasn't exactly the right one. Derek would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't been so furious with the brat. Scott was supposed to be some sort of perfect alpha but he couldn't even protect his best friend, couldn't even pick out the right flower.

It started an argument of course. Derek called Scott stupid and pigheaded, Scott called Derek a dick. Derek told him he was a child, which of course got the response that so was Stiles and what did that make Derek.

The sheriff did his cop thing, told them to calm down, to take some time out, get some distance, so Scott agreed to go check on Kira, and deliver the flower that made Stiles sleep, which was when Derek realized Stiles hadn't even tried to halt the argument.

He spun to the boy. To his relief, Stiles was merely curled up in the kind of position only a teenage boy could find comfortable, engrossed in something on the laptop. Derek made his way over quietly, wanting to see what could distract Stiles so thoroughly he'd failed to interrupt the pack strife as he would usually, without alerting Stiles. He managed to get a good look over Stiles' shoulder, before the boy jumped and minimized the page.

Derek hadn't had time to read the text, his archaic Latin was rusty at best, and he had barely time to make sense of any letters before Stiles noticed him. But he could see the pictures. Destroyed and deserted homes. And Derek had no clue why Stiles would be looking at them.

"Hey," said Stiles, as he jumped, "didn't see you there. Trying to see if you can make me drop the laptop?"

"What was that?" Derek asked.

"What was what?" Stiles asked, guiltily.

"That picture," Derek clarified, voice letting Stiles know he was not getting away with that.

"Nothing," Stiles said, and as Derek reached for the laptop, Stiles picked it up. "So, who's up for pizza?"

Derek wasn't fooled. "Give me the laptop, Stiles," he growled.

Stiles laughed at him, "Sour wolf! Bossy wolf! Anyone would think you were the boss or something."

Derek leaned forward to take the laptop out of Stiles' hands, but Stiles backed off again, and this time pulled the computer open, Derek darted forward again, ready to grab the thing, but Stiles had deleted whatever it was he'd been looking at.

"Seriously, it was nothing," said Stiles, "I was slacking. It's the ADHD thing, it's got nothing to do with the fae. It's not important."

"Stiles," Derek pleaded. Stiles was lying. He was lying so hard his heart was beating like a hyperactive child given a drum. He was smiling, but it wouldn't fool any of them, and he stunk of panic and fear and misery. "What happened?"

Stiles gaped, mouth open, staring at him, then he spun, taking in the people in the room, these people who loved him and were concerned. Stiles didn't seem to appreciate that concern. Right now, it seemed to be nothing but a weight on his shoulders.

"I need to talk to Derek." The words seemed to drop out of Stiles, like heavy, unwanted weight he wanted rid of.

"Son?" the sheriff asked,

"Please," said Stiles, "Please, Scott, can you..."

Scott had left already, gone after his girlfriend. Stiles only just seemed to notice.

"Please," said Stiles, turning pleading eyes on Derek, "Can we... go somewhere? Please?"

"Where?" asked Derek.

Stiles squirmed, "Just… just upstairs or… something."

The sheriff stepped forward, face a frown of disapproval, "Stiles, I don't…"

Stiles turned quickly, interrupted his father with urgency, and without even a hint of his usual sureness, "Please! I just need… just… just Derek. For like, a little bit."

Derek had agreed already. But he didn't fancy being shot. Or arrested.

The sheriff turned hard eyes on Derek. He didn't say any words, but Derek knew what the man was feeling. He felt the same. The world was crashing out of his control. The safety of the man they loved was slipping from their grip.

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand and pulled him up the spiral stairs. No one tried to stop him.

...xxx...xxx...

Stiles smelled terrified.

It wasn't a disgusting smell. Derek had always thought it should be. It made no sense that werewolves weren't disgusted by fear, that they didn't have the survival instinct to feel hatred for pain and terror. Now it all made sense. Now he understood what it was all about. He felt wrong, like the scent was creeping under his skin, embedding within him, taking route like a disease. Instinctively he knew it wouldn't help to leave. Deep within him, and growing by the minute, was a need to fix the source of this terror. His only chance was to fix Stiles.

But he had no clue how to do that.

Stiles pulled at his wrist, dragging Derek along. Derek was incapable of resisting. Though he could have held the teenager still with one finger, he could not resist this need. The boy was a pile of miserable needs and fears that Derek should be fixing. Stiles should not have to suffer.

They reached Derek's bedroom, a simple dark space he used to retreat from the world. No one was allowed in. Even Jennifer had never been invited to stay the night there. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Derek didn't even protest as Stiles stumbled in, all terror and energy and chaos. Stiles' terrified mess should have shattered Derek's precious sanctuary. It didn't.

"Stiles?" Derek began, hearing the worry in his own voice.

Still shaking, Stiles spun to him. His eyes were wide and wet, his skin drained and pale. Something inside Derek whined at the sight, but he managed to keep it inside, not let it out to do nothing but disturb Stiles.

Stiles seemed to shake himself. His heart still sounded like that of a rabbit, but some of his shaking subsided. He looked at Derek with need and certainty.

"Fuck me," he said.

Derek didn't even make sense of the words.

"What happened?" Derek demanded.

Stiles flung himself at Derek, threw his arms around Derek's neck. Derek caught him around the middle, his hands on each side of Stiles' waist, as Stiles' face loomed closer, Derek realized what was going on.

He needed to make Stiles see what was happening, too. "What are you doing?" Derek asked, holding Stiles at arm's length, trying to stop him reaching.

Stiles managed to roll his eyes even through his obvious distress.

"I'm trying to kiss you," he said, forcing annoyance into his voice that did nothing to hide the fear in the sound. "And then," he continued, with a smirk, "we're going to fuck. Because we both want to."

He pushed Derek's hands off his waist and lunged forward once more. Derek was so lost, he let him.

The kiss was a sloppy mess, but so needy and perfect Derek nearly went for it. Except the taste. Stiles had tasted beautiful before. Now he just tasted wrong.

Derek pushed him away.

"Stiles," he said, "You…"

"Don't pretend!" Stiles snapped, "Now isn't the time! I need you to fuck me…"

Derek held him by the waist. Stiles' hands grabbed at his upper arms, clawed at his shirt.

"Derek!" Stiles groaned, "Just kiss me! It doesn't matter! The age thing, it's stupid! Who cares about two weeks?!"

"Your loving and devoted father, for one," said Derek.

Stiles flushed, but persisted, needy and terrified and stubborn, "Derek! This is about us! Please! Don't you want me?"

Derek nearly laughed. It was such a stupid question. But he could barely formulate an answer.

Stiles took his silence as answer enough. "Then fuck me!" he ordered, lunging forward once more, hands pulling at the hem of Derek's shirt this time, ready to pull it from his body.

Derek grabbed both Stiles' hands and held them back in firm grips. Stiles' breath caught in his throat, half arousal, half pure terror.

"Stiles, stop," Derek instructed.

Surprisingly, Stiles obeyed.

Derek took a relieved breath. "OK," he said, needing to move past this, to get to what had changed Stiles so, "What happened?"

"Er, a fairy wants to make me its bitch, I'm allowed to be a bit freaked," said stiles, "That doesn't mean we have to stop kissing."

Derek aimed for his warning voice, "Stiles, what's changed?"

Stiles' heart stuttered enough to show that Derek was right on the money. Something had changed the whole way Stiles thought about the fae.

"At the store?" Derek asked, "That it knocked you out?"

Stiles writhed in his grip, "Derek!" he groaned, "I want to have sex. There doesn't have to be more to it!"

"No you don't," said Derek, dismissively, because he could tell when someone freaked out and trying to hide it without his werewolf powers. "What's changed? We're going to fight it, Stiles, I promise you I'll never let it take you."

Stiles didn't reply straight away, but his eyes grew only wetter. He fidgeted, mind obviously flying at a million miles per hour behind those eyes.

"I want to have sex," he repeated.

Derek shook his head.

"Derek!" Stiles growled, writhing once more from Derek's grip. Derek surprised him by letting him go, and Stiles nearly fell to the ground. He righted himself easily enough and turned his burning eyes onto Derek's face, mind still whirring, emotions still tumbling around out of control. They stood and breathed for long moments, not letting their eyes off each other, Derek's steady and concerned, Stiles' wet and shaking. It took time for Derek to break the spell, though all he did was sigh sadly.

It snapped something in Stiles, who blinked. Then spun around once more, this time searching for something. His quarry was soon made clear, when he made purposeful steps towards the bed.

"Stiles," Derek warned.

But Stiles crawled onto the bed, and, turning his impassioned gaze on Derek, pulled his shirt off over his head. Even with the mix of emotions still invading Derek's nose, the sight of Stiles' lithe torso made his mouth water with desire. His slim but firm chest, his long arms made Derek want to groan with desire. But he couldn't have taken advantage, because Stiles smelt wrong.

"Stop, Stiles," Derek pleaded.

"Fuck me!" Stiles snapped.

"No, Stiles," Derek replied.

"Don't you want me anymore?" Stiles demanded. "One blow job was enough was it?"

Derek almost couldn't answer. Saying yes would probably help him end it, making Stiles hate him would be an efficient way to stop him trying to sleep with the boy. But it could also hurt Stiles more deeply than Derek could tell. And Derek couldn't do that.

"No," he said, honestly.

"Then fuck me!" Stiles cried.

And Stiles writhed on the bed, moving his hands down his slim waist to his pants.

Derek knew he had to stop this now. He took strong confident strides to the bed. Stiles' eyes widened, and a new wave of the scents of fear and arousal struck Derek. He saw the boy's hands hesitate at the waistband of his pants, and if Derek wasn't sure before, he was now.

He climbed on to the mattress. Stiles stumbled backwards, hands trembling, but Derek didn't stop. Stiles tumbled down to a seated position, maybe he was about to force himself to open his legs, but Derek didn't give him the chance. He dropped to a seated position against the headboard and pulled Stiles against his side.

He heard Stiles stop breathing for a moment, maybe scared, maybe surprised, maybe both. Derek simply pulled him closer in comforting arms. They were firm enough to let Stiles know he wanted to keep him there for some time, but nothing like firm enough to hold him if Stiles wanted free.

Stiles wriggled gently. Derek looked at him expectantly.

"Er, Derek?" said Stiles.

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Derek smiled. Strangely, Stiles' surprise and confusion were helping him to calm down. His panic was fading, his fear drifting away. Maybe even Derek's arms were helping with that, Derek allowed himself to think. "Comforting you," he said, simply.

Stiles frowned at Derek's shirt, "Why?" he asked.

"Because…" Derek blinked, "because I want to. Shut up and put up."

Stiles fidgeted a bit, but didn't pull away. He shuffled to a more comfortable position, where he pressed his body to Derek's side. Then he went still. He didn't even have tension in his limbs.

After a few moments, he said, "OK, we'll do this for like five minutes. Ten max. Then we'll fuck."

Derek smiled again, because whatever the teen said, he could tell Stiles was ready to fall asleep against his side.

...xxx...xxx...

Stiles didn't even think about moving for hours. His face was buried in Derek's chest, the werewolf's arms were wrapped comfortingly around him, while his own hands were gripping to Derek's shirt. At some point they had slipped down the headboard until they were both reclining more than sitting, and as a result they had both dozed.

It was his bladder that made Stiles carefully unwind himself from the safe cocoon of Derek's arms. He'd been ignoring it for a while, hoping to put off ever having to leave this perfect situation. Derek whined in his sleep at the movement, but had clearly not slept for several days now, and he didn't wake. Which was just as well; this inexplicable cuddle-fest was far from over, Stiles was coming back.

He stumbled to the bathroom, legs heavy from his time in bed. He tried his best to be quiet, not quite ready to face his dad just yet. But he knew he needed to; he had barely more than a week left here with the people he loved and the world he knew, he wanted to spend a lot of that time with his dad, making up for the lies and deceit and making sure he had someone checking he ate vegetables and looked after his heart. But it could wait while Derek was snuggly and warm.

He used the bathroom as quickly as he could, and almost fell out in his haste to get back to Derek. He almost walked into Peter who was stood outside.

"You know, this is why I don't help," sneered the older werewolf, "You make a great fuss about how I never do research, then when I come to do just that, the only awake people I find are a sulking banshee and an angry sheriff."

Stiles flailed momentarily. "Don't do that!" he snapped, and added "Creeper!" for good measure.

"Charmed," said Peter, strangely looking exactly that.

Stiles stopped flailing and gave him a suspicious look, which admittedly had been thoroughly undermined by the previous flailing, "What are you doing here?" he demanded, willing his heart to calm down before he died of embarrassment in front of a zombie werewolf.

Peter raised his eyebrows, "You said, barely hours ago in fact, that if I really wanted to help, I'd 'turn up and do research or something,'" Peter used air quotes. Stiles thought they were unnecessary. He wasn't even convinced they had been used correctly. Those were totally not his actual words. Probably.

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually do it," he replied, folding his arms.

Peter merely shrugged. "So, shall I go?"

Stiles gave him the 'well, duh,' look. It didn't work. "Yes!" he said, instead

Peter sighed. "Last time I try to be a good guy."

He deserved an extra glare for that, "As if that's what you're doing!" Stiles grumbled.

"Stiles, really, I do not want you being taken by some fairy!" Peter insisted, "That would really ruin my plans."

A shiver went down Stiles' back. "Yeah, that's just great. Not more creepy than ever, at all."

He turned to go back to Derek's room.

"And Derek still hasn't fucked you?" Peter tutted. "Does he think there are special rewards for people who don't take what they want because it's against some unreasonable moral code created by people no one has even met?"

Stiles didn't turn back, "He has morals. You have no friends. I wonder which is better."

"Whichever wins," said Peter. "Catch."

Stiles turned and flailed and somehow managed to catch a little cloth bag tied with a ribbon. He looked at it suspiciously for a moment and said, "Thanks, a tiny purse from the olden days."

"Ground St Johns Wort," said Peter.

Stiles looked at him, searched his face. It didn't seem like a lie.

"I don't want you going anywhere," Peter explained.

"Seriously?" said Stiles. "This isn't going to, like, turn out to be a snake that eats everyone or a magic cherry that makes us all think you're some kind of non-douche bag?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "I went to a store, I bought some St Johns Wort tablets, I put it with some iron filings, ground it all together and put it in a little bag." He smiled, "Portable fairy repellent."

Stiles looked at him. Then at the little cloth bag. Then back at Peter. Peter didn't flinch, didn't show nerves or tension or anything. No signs of a lie.

He thought about whether he should be worried. Then he realized he was alone with a man who could tear his insides out in half a second should he choose. Why should he be scared of a little cloth bag? If Peter wanted him dead, he would be dead.

There was a chance, admittedly a tiny one, that Peter was genuinely trying to help.

He could, at the very least, show it to Derek.

He nodded to Peter and took it back into Derek's bedroom.


	12. Chapter 12

With all the caution of someone who had been through wolfsbane induced hallucinations and possession by an ancient Japanese demon, Stiles inspected the little package. He put it down on the bedside table and looked, then prodded it with a finger. After that he sniffed it, though he knew he should probably wait for Derek or someone to do that more thoroughly. He, personally, with his mundane human nose, could smell nothing amiss.

Carefully, imagining the films he'd seen with bomb disposal experts, he untied the pack, keeping it at arm's length, ready to snap it closed again or throw it out the window. Nothing happened. He slowly counted to ten under his breath. Still there was no explosion or smell or fizz of chemical reaction. So, ever so slowly, he looked inside.

Inside was a rough powder of white and silvery grey. If Stiles were to take a guess, he'd assume it was exactly what Peter had described, crushed tablet and iron filings. Had anyone but Peter handed them over, Stiles would have accepted it to be St Johns Wort. Except it had been handed to him by Peter. And Stiles knew better than to take that creepy, megalomaniac's word.

He fastened the parcel up once more and put it on the bedside table before climbing back into bed with Derek. He wasn't surprised to find the werewolf watching him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," Derek replied, pale eyes concerned and searching.

"Hey," said Stiles again. He tried to smile but he kept remembering what had happened the last time they spoke, how he had behaved. His eyes dropped from Derek's.

"You said that already," said Derek, with a small smile.

Yeah, he did. He shrugged.

"How are you feeling?" Derek asked.

"Like I made a complete ass of myself," Stiles replied, honestly.

"Never," Derek grumbled.

"I'm…"

"Stiles, you were scared, you were …"

Stiles shook his head. "It's OK, Derek, you don't have to be nice. I tried to do something you didn't want to. I won't try again…"

Derek's hand suddenly grasped Stiles'. Stiles looked up, sure his cheeks were red. Even though he was uncomfortable with embarrassment, he didn't feel the need to move further away from Derek.

"Stiles…" Derek started, earnestly, but then he hesitated, like he couldn't quite go any further. Stiles nodded. He understood. Derek saw him as a kid. A kid he was confused about, but mostly a kid. And last night, Stiles had made everything worse, by behaving like a crazy, spoiled brat. He was surprised Derek could look at him. He should be disgusted with Stiles right now.

"Stiles, look at me."

Derek's voice was warm. It felt like a caress, gentle and welcoming. Stiles obeyed it without thinking. Derek was watching him, and when he was sure he had Stiles' full attention, he went on.

"Stiles, I will never not want to be with you," he said, "I wanted to be with you yesterday. I wanted to do everything you asked me to. But you didn't."

Stiles blinked. He'd felt like he wanted to at the time, but would he have felt anything but gross now had they actually gone through with it? Would he have hated himself for rushing into something? Would he have felt used and dirty? Would he have felt guilt over trying to bully Derek into something he didn't want to do?

"Hey," Derek softly snapped, "Don't look like that. You didn't want to. You were just looking for an outlet for your fear and your anger. Stiles, I promise you; I will look after you."

Stiles nodded, thankful but still sad.

Derek continued, "And you did hear the bit about how I would never not want that, right?"

Stiles looked up, hopefully.

"When it's not illegal," said Derek, "if you still want me… I mean, you'll probably move on. Someone as beautiful and as whole as you, you'll have them lining up…"

"Derek," Stiles interrupted, "the only way I got a date for the formal was that Allison guilt tripped someone into going with me…"

Derek put a hand on his face, "People will see it, Stiles. The ones that deserve you will see how wonderful you are. I mean, I don't deserve you, but…"

"I don't want anyone else," Stiles interrupted.

It was Derek's turn to look away, "Lydia…"

"Was a massive distraction," said Stiles. "I basically decided I was madly in love with her about a week after my Mom died because she reminded me of her. You know, clever and beautiful and sassy and confident. And I love her now, like, because she's my friend. She's still clever and beautiful and sassy and brave, but… but you're…"

There were no words for Derek. So Stiles went with, "You're hot."

Derek, thankfully, laughed. As much as Stiles had ever seen him laugh. So Stiles added "And you look even hotter when you let your face show something other than troubled misery."

Derek sobered, and once again gave Stiles a serious look, "I'm damaged. I'm broken."

Stiles shook his head. "You've been through some crap, yeah, but you're still brave and good. You're still standing, you're still you. You haven't gone psycho like your uncle, so, you know, kudos."

Derek half-smiled, half frowned, "Stiles…"

"Are we going to go round in circles again?" Stiles asked, "Because that would be a huge waste of time, and you know, I don't think anything's going to stop this thing taking me. I think that when it comes, I have to go..."

"I'm going to protect you, Stiles!" Derek repeated. Stiles loved him for it.

"I have to, and I think half of me is desperate to have the chance to, you know…. You know with you? Like first? But the other half…"

Derek interrupted, "I'm not…"

"The other half doesn't want you to be hurt again," Stiles finished, speaking over him.

Derek watched him thoughtfully for a moment, frowning deep now, but when he moved it was like lightening. His hand caught in Stiles' hair and tugged him closer to press his lips desperately to Stiles'. Stiles moaned at the contact, and threw his own arm over Derek's waist.

Stiles thought it might be impossible to hold onto his doubts when Derek's kisses felt like this.

"I'm not letting you go," Derek told him, "if you want to be near me, I will fight anyone who might try to take you."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Derek..."

"No," said Derek, and brushed his lips against Stiles' neck.

Stiles groaned, "Derek." But it didn't sound like a protest. He couldn't quite believe that this was his life. Some kind of grand irony, going nearly eighteen years desperately wanting someone to notice him, someone as wonderful as Derek, only to have him notice when he only had ten days left. And on top of that refuse to do anything before those ten days were up. That sounded like Stiles' life to a T.

After a glorious making out session, that didn't go anywhere near far enough in Stiles' opinion, Derek led a very disappointed Stiles back down to the main group, where they found Lydia and the Sheriff sitting with newly returned Isaac and Kira. The Sheriff gave them a massively suspicious look, but refrained from commenting, which they both found a massive relief.

"So," said Lydia, as though they'd just gone out to grab some milk, "apparently Deaton has found a spell."

"A spell?" Stiles asked.

"I don't like it," said the sheriff, arms folded and face dark in a way that made his words unnecessary.

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

Dad's lip curled, and Kira, hesitantly, said, "Apparently it summons the Queen of the fairies so we can beg to keep you. Well, not exactly summon, more like, form a meeting place, or... I didn't really understand."

Somewhere in its deep, dark recesses that even he had learned to keep to himself, Stiles' mind made an image of them all kneeling in front of a man wearing in a dress and a tiara with those glittery pink wings that little girls wear to children's parties. He quelled it quickly

"Doesn't sound so bad," said Stiles.

"That's what I said," grumbled Dad.

Stiles glanced at him, and the not massively relieved face of Lydia, "So, I'm guessing this isn't a fool proof plan, then?"

Lydia hummed, "I think your Dad's angry because Deaton says that he can't be part of it."

Stiles tried to school his face into the expression his father wanted. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure what his father wanted. Overall, Stiles felt kind of relieved. Whatever happened, at least his dad couldn't get caught up in the middle of it. "Well, I guess it's up to me, right? Because, you know, I'm me? My problem, my mess, right?"

"Well, not exactly," said Kira, hurriedly. "Or, not at all. Deaton said they won't bother talking to humans."

"What?" Stiles cried, "They're happy to kidnap me, but they won't talk to me? What, do they think people are some sort of animal they can keep as a pet? This is blatant speciesism!"

Derek, Lydia, Kira and Dad gave Stiles a look. Stiles was immune to that look. He'd had it most days since he was old enough to talk. Isaac barely even reacted.

"Actually," Kira interjected, "Deaton thinks the best bet is the Hale pack."

"What?" Derek growled.

Kira had the grace to look slightly mollified by Derek's reaction. Lydia didn't.

"Makes sense," she said casually, "An ancient race like the fae are more likely to respect a bit of establishment."

Derek growled again, "There is no Hale pack."

His voice broke with anger and pain. Stiles couldn't help but lean over and put a hand in his.

"Maybe I should let Deaton explain," Kira said in a tiny squeak.

"Probably," said Isaac, "Derek's less likely to rip Deaton's throat out."

"Less likely," Stiles felt like supplying, "Not unlikely. That's basic probability, like fifth grade math."

But his fingers were clinging to Derek's. He knew it could never be enough to make up for that wave of misery that hits when conversations unexpectedly turn to people you miss with every fibre of your being, but it was better than nothing.

"Well, better get on with it," said Dad, but he didn't make a move. He seemed to be staring at Stiles' hand intertwined with Derek's.

"Oh, wait," Stiles said, jumping up. He darted back up to Derek's room, found Peter's package where he left it, and grabbed it. He deposited it in his pocket, and ran back down the spiral stairs, barely managing not to topple down them.

None of the others had moved. Dad seemed to be watching Derek in full Sheriff mode. Stiles worried if he was thinking up felonies to charge Derek with.

"Ready?" he asked.

...xxx...xxx...xxx...

"It'll be dangerous, but I think it will be safer if just Scott and Derek actually take part in the ritual. I think that sending any more supernatural creatures could cause offence or suspicion, and if they actually decide to attack you, it wouldn't matter if you had a hundred werewolves, you'd all be dead within seconds."

Deaton, using his infuriating I'm-talking-about-your-death-like-it's-normal voice, made Derek growl.

"How likely is that?" Kira asked, giving Scott a worried sideways glance.

"It's possible," Deaton said, "The fae are a proud people. They were considered as gods once, and even after Christianity took their worship, they were still feared for centuries. They don't take kindly to people disrespecting them, or threatening them in any way."

"So, the chances of them killing Derek and Scott?" Stiles asked.

"It's a possibility," said Deaton.

"So what do we do?" asked Derek.

"Hey, hold your horses!" Stiles interrupted, "I'm not letting my best friend and my … er… Derek go into somewhere they might die!"

There was a moment of silence, then Scott said, "Stiles, we have to."

Stiles scowled at him, "No, you don't."

It was the Sheriff's turn next. "Stiles…"

"No!" Stiles cried before he could get any real words out, "I'm not gonna let anyone else die because of me!"

"Stiles," Scott urged, voice pleading, "If we don't do this, they will take you away!"

"Then they take me!" Stiles shouted, "I would rather go with them than see anyone else dead! Anyone! I will stop you!"

"And how are you planning to do that?" Derek asked quietly.

Stiles turned on him, "You're not risking your life for me, Derek."

"It's my life," Derek replied, "It's my choice what I do with it."

Stiles gaped, furious, "Derek, I'm not going to let you!"

Derek smiled. He could have predicted this, "Again, I'd like to know how you plan to stop us."

"I'll … sit on you," said Stiles.

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that, 'I'll just pick you up and take you off me' look!" Stiles cried, "It would slow you down! And Kira would sit on Scott! And Isaac would sit on both of you! Wouldn't you?"

He looked at Kira and Isaac for support. Kira edged from foot to foot.

Isaac just shrugged. "It's their decision," he told Stiles.

"Er, no it's not!" snapped Stiles, "Kira! Tell them!"

Kira looked at Scott, still anxious, "Scott, I don't… I don't want you to, but… I understand."

"No she doesn't!" Stiles shouted, "She's lying!"

Derek rolled his eyes, and picked him up. He heard Stiles shouting and swearing at him as he threw the teenager over his shoulder. The Sheriff didn't try to stop the kidnap, in fact he stepped aside and nodded at Derek with something like respect as they passed by him, and actually gave Derek exactly what he needed.

Derek carried Stiles into a storage room, ignoring the barrage of abuse and slurs he was receiving (King Kong and The Hulk featured heavily in the imagery Stiles used, and there were definite references to all muscles and no brains.) He put Stiles down, making sure he was between the teen and the door.

And Stiles looked furious, "What do you think you're doing? You can't just pick people up and carry them into another room because they argue with you!"

"I needed to talk to you," said Derek.

"We were talking!" said Stiles, "I was telling you how I wasn't going to let you get hurt just for me!"

"Just for you?" Derek repeated, he surged forward, "Just for you?"

Stiles stepped back, but glared hard, "I will not let anyone else die because of me!"

Derek nodded, he knew what Stiles meant, "Ok," he said, "OK, I get it. OK."

He saw Stiles shuffle, "So… you won't do it?"

Derek shrugged, "If you don't want me to…"

"I don't," Stiles confirmed hurriedly.

"OK," said Derek.

Stiles frowned, "So you won't?" he asked. "You'll stay here and be safe?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" said Derek.

"Do you promise?" said Stiles, "Promise me you'll stay safe? I've got like a week left, and I want you to be there for all of it. Promise me you will?"

"Stiles," said Derek, stepping closer. "You have to learn to trust me."

Stiles put his head on one side, "I do, it's just… that was kind of… easier than I expected. I'm not sure I shouldn't be offended."

Derek smiled, "I just know there's no way to win an argument with you."

"Well…" Stiles shrugged, "I am pretty good with my mouth."

Derek's smile grew. Stiles blushed.

"Not like that!" Stiles protested.

"Sure you are," said Derek, "I should know."

Stiles' blush grew darker. Derek smirked at him, dropped his voice to a low growl, "I think it's time I returned that favor now," he said.

"Really?" said Stiles.

Derek nodded, "I think we have a while before they get bored of waiting. You wanna?"

"Uh, yeah," said Stiles.

Derek smiled again, and kissed him. As he did, he pushed the teen back until he was leaning against one of the shelving units.

Stiles kissed him enthusiastically until his back hit the unit, "Hang on," he said, "Is this one of those moments where you lull me into a false sense of security and then handcuff me to something so I can't stop you doing something stupid?"

Derek blinked.

Stiles' jaw dropped, "Oh my God! You're were totally going to try to handcuff me to something so you could do it anyway!"

Derek blinked once more. He and Stiles seemed to realize what was going to happen next at the same time. Stiles shouted "Oh no!" and started to run, while Derek grabbed his wrist firmly but definitely gently enough to never bruise.

"Don't even think about it!" Stiles growled, giving Derek a warning glare full of promise of vengeance.

"Sorry, Stiles," said Derek, and pulled out the handcuffs that the sheriff had dropped into his pocket as he passed.

Stiles saw them and shouted "Don't you dare!" as Derek locked one of the cuffs around his wrist. "I am going to kill you, Derek!"

"I promise to let you try afterwards," said Derek.

"I mean it! I know where Deaton keeps his wolfs bane! And my dad's got a gun."

"OK," said Derek.

"Seriously," said Stiles, "they'll never find the body!"

"I believe you," said Derek, fastening the other cuff to the shelves, "But I'm gonna go fight to protect you first."

"I'm gonna chop you up into little pieces," said Stiles.

Derek nodded and kissed him on the forehead.

Stiles rattled the cuff. "And you better come back and use these at a more appropriate time."

Derek raised his eyebrows, "They're your dad's."

Stiles curled his lip, "Then you'd better come back with a pair that are less mood killing, dur!"

"I'll do that," Derek replied.

"And pass on the death threats to the other traitors too," said Stiles.

Derek nodded, smiled and went back to planning how to save him.


	13. Chapter 13

"Do not try to bully them. Do not try to force them. Do not scowl. Do not lose your temper. Do not be anything but respectful and considerate. Smile when you meet them, but from that moment onwards, do not smile unless you are a hundred percent certain that they are smiling at you or have made a joke. Do not stare. Do not scowl. Do not demand."

Deaton was looking more worked up than he ever usually let show. Derek wondered if maybe he was uncertain whether to let his protégé Scott risk it all for a normal and unremarkable human like Stiles, but had given up trying to talk him out of it. Or maybe still was. Scott looked ready to pass out. Derek felt madly worried too, but was better at holding it in. And there was no way Deaton was going to talk Derek out of protecting Stiles. He just wished he could be close to Stiles as he did this. He wanted to be saving Stiles and protecting him, in two places at once.

"Isaac," he said quietly.

Isaac looked up sharply, maybe surprised by the gentle plea in Derek's voice.

But Derek didn't shy away. He knew he couldn't. "Can you keep an eye on him?"

"What?" asked Isaac.

"Keep an eye on Stiles," said Scott, and Derek was pleasantly surprised to find they were on the same page, "Just in case."

"I don't need a babysitter!" shouted Stiles.

"Why?" Isaac asked.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but Stiles is being stalked and threatened by a supernatural creature," said Lydia.

"Yeah, but... that's the point of this, isn't it?" asked Isaac.

"I don't need a babysitter!" shouted Stiles, again. "If you hadn't chained me to a shelf, I could actually look after myself."

"I'll let you free as soon as you stop trying to get yourself hurt," the sheriff called.

"This is false imprisonment, Sheriff!" Stiles shouted, "Arrest Derek Hale and his evil accomplices!"

"Only if I get to arrest you for the many hundreds of misdemeanors I've overlooked," replied the sheriff.

"Oh my god!" Stiles cried, "I hardly think a little bit of breaking and entering and looking at classified documents and lying to law enforcement officers is quite on the same scale as kidnapping!"

"Because you've never kidnapped anybody," said Lydia, sarcastically.

"You can't compare me to a scaly monster that kills people on command!"

Isaac's face held a vague look of distaste, "I think that's a firm 'no babysitting' from Stiles."

"He's just angry," said Scott, "he won't do anything."

"I wouldn't count on it, Isaac!" Stiles warned.

"You're chained to a shelf," Derek called.

"For now!" shouted Stiles, "I'll master the art of escapology any moment now!"

"He won't," said Lydia, "he'd take at least a few hours to learn even if he had a resource. As it is, he'd have to find a tool to help him and then figure out how to use it."

"I grew up with a sheriff, do you think I've never googled how to escape handcuffs?"

"He's a human, Isaac," said Derek, "You're a werewolf. You need to make sure he doesn't get murdered or kidnapped in the next hour. I think you'll be OK."

Isaac nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

"Derek, it'll be more than an hour," said Deaton, "They might choose to keep you a full day. Once you step into their kingdom, you are at their mercy."

"I thought we were summoning them," said Derek.

"That's an oversimplification," Deaton explained, "we're creating a temporary reality where this world and theirs can meet."

"Can I use the bathroom?" Stiles shouted.

"I'll get you a bucket in a minute," replied the sheriff, calmly.

"A bucket? Seriously? Am I allowed no dignity?"

"Life first, dignity second," replied the sheriff.

"So," said Scott, over Stiles' less than polite response, "If it's a temporary reality, surely they can't keep us there forever?"

"Not forever, no," said Deaton, "the reality will only exist until the sun sets on this world. They might choose to keep you there that long just to make you prove that your plea is important enough."

"Are they likely to agree?" asked Derek.

Deaton gave him a sympathetic look, "It's possible," he said, "it depends on who wants Stiles. If they are of high enough rank that they consider offence to a werewolf pack insignificant in comparison..."

He let the words hang there, a threat and a warning.

"We have to try," said Scott, uncertainly.

Derek merely glared. It had never even been a question. He was going to do anything it took.

"Scott, please!" cried Stiles, "You can't risk your lives for a tiny, tiny possibility it might stop me going on an extended holiday! Please!"

Scott looked nervously at his feet. Derek growled.

"I'm going, Scott. Come with me or don't, but I'm going."

He heard Stiles groan, "Derek..."

"No," said Derek, "Sheriff, can you take him home, please? Isaac will go with you. Maybe Kiera, too?"

"I'd rather..." Kira started, looking at Scott, then dropping her gaze to the floor.

"A werewolf and a cop with a gun," said the sheriff, quietly, "he'll be OK."

Derek nodded, but knew better. When the fae had first confronted him and Stiles, he'd had no clue what to do. He would be surprised if Isaac could do much better. Then again, if the fae showed up when the sheriff was there, he'd probably just shoot it. Who knew whether that could work?

"It's for the best," said Deaton, as the sheriff pulled out his keys and went to collect his son, "the spell will take great concentration, and Mr. Stilinski is gifted at destroying both of you."

Derek glared. Scott merely shrugged, looking barely abashed.

"That is total discrimination against geniuses with ADHD!" cried Stiles.

"Yep," said the sheriff, "it's that. Now are you coming quietly or do I need to arrest you for something?"

"Oh my god!" said Stiles.

Derek heard the sheriff sigh, and the soft clink of metal as he, presumably, unlocked the handcuffs from the shelves. He heard Stiles grumbling about how his dad was ruining handcuffs for him before they came back, Stiles handcuffed to an unimpressed looking Isaac now, and made their way to the actual exit.

Stiles took one moment in the doorway, turning back to Derek and looking him dead in the eye, "Please, don't do this Derek," he said, "Please! I don't want you hurt!" before Isaac tugged him out of the practice.

Derek didn't spare time worrying about Stiles' guilt. He had to do this. There was no other choice.

They created a circle of herbs. Deaton repeated his warnings, his mantra of respect and manners, to ask not demand, request and plead not bully. Derek tried to listen. It was against every instinct he had. Someone threatened his pack, he should retaliate with teeth and claws. Someone threatened Stiles, Derek wanted to kill.

"Are you sure you wanna do this, Derek?" Scott asked.

Derek glared at him again.

"I know you and Stiles have got some weird… thing going on now, but…"

"Stop talking Scott," Derek growled.

"I get it," said Scott, "but…"

"Scott, shut up."

There must have been something in his voice that time, because Scott obeyed.

"Above all," said Deaton, firmly, scolding, "you must show a united front. A pack holds sway, but a couple of lone wolves are barely more than human to the fae. Work together or your mission will fail."

Scott gave Derek a nervous look.

Derek grunted.

"This is serious," said Deaton, "If you two squabble like children…"

"We won't squabble," Scott protested.

Deaton didn't look convinced. He gave Derek that discouraging and undermining look Derek suspected was saved just for him. It was infuriating. This man who had cared for and respected his mother so dearly found him to be a worthless annoyance, while holding Scott on some sort of pedestal. But it wasn't important right now.

"Stiles is more important than our petty jealousies," Derek growled, hoping they all took the point. Including himself. Scott had the grace to look slightly abashed. Deaton remained impassive. Derek could tell he didn't agree. But he seemed ready to go through with it anyway.

"Lydia and I will be conductors," Deaton told them, "holding the door open for you, as it were, so that when you are ready you can return."

Lydia nodded, arms folded, beautiful face sharp. Derek suspected she was as good a reader of emotions as any werewolf, even if she didn't have the sense of smell.

"Are you ready?" Deaton asked, giving Scott another look of disapproval.

"Yes," Scott replied.

Deaton gave him another look. Scott held the gaze, and Derek was ready to growl with frustration. Though it took too long, eventually Deaton sighed.

"Step into the circle," he said, and as Derek and Scott obeyed, added "when you see a light, walk towards it."

"Walk into a light?" Kira repeated, "We're not supposed to be telling them to die."

"Not all popular mythology is based on truth," said Deaton. He readied himself, a book before him, "The light will show you where the fae have gathered."

"What should we expect?" asked Scott.

Deaton lifted his gaze from the book, made eye contact with Scott, "I have no idea."

Then he began to chant.

…xxx…xxx…xxx…

"This is a bad idea."

Stiles, again, was ignored.

"Like, a real stupid idea."

Again, Isaac stared out of the cruiser window in the front seat, Dad drove in silence.

"You shouldn't let them do this!" Stiles tried, hands pressing against the grill of the cruiser, "You're letting them put themselves in danger!"

No response. The bastards.

"I mean, I can understand Dad, I bet I'd let loads of people die to protect him, so can't expect less of him, but you, Isaac? Scott's your friend and your alpha! And Derek, too!"

Isaac shrugged, "It's their choice."

Stiles tried to hide the small sense of victory, "But it's dangerous!"

"Yeah, but Scott insisted," said Isaac, "You should have seen him."

"Seen him?" Stiles repeated, "I was there, Isaac, I was the one being chained to shelving units so I couldn't interfere!"

"I mean with Deaton…" said Isaac.

That made Stiles think, "What do you mean? What happened?"

"Deaton was all for finding another way," said Isaac, "he told Scott this one was too dangerous. He probably wouldn't have mentioned it at all if Kira hadn't seen it."

"You mean even Deaton thinks this is a bad idea?" Stiles cried. "Seriously, we have to go back and stop them!"

"I didn't say that!" said Isaac, nervously, "I said Scott was desperate to save you!"

"No, Deaton knows it's dangerous! He knows it's not worth it!"

"It's worth it!" snapped the Sheriff, breaking them both off for a long moment.

"Look," said Isaac, turning and looking through the grate at Stiles, "All I meant was that Scott would do pretty much anything to keep you safe, and apparently so would Derek. Deaton has a vested interest in Scott because he's the alpha. He just wanted to take a bit longer and find another way, but Scott insisted there was no time."

"You're understating!" Stiles realized, "You're down playing what he said!"

"No I'm not!" said Isaac.

"Yes you are!" said Stiles, "He didn't say to wait, he said… what did he say?"

"Stiles…" Isaac warned.

"What did he say?" Stiles repeated.

Isaac gave Stiles and his dad a panicked look, then turned to the window and looked stubbornly out of it. Stiles took a guess.

"He thinks it's not worth risking Scott and Derek to save me," he said.

Isaac didn't reply. Just stared out of the window.

"Well, he's right!" said Stiles, "I'm not worth them! Please, Dad, we have to stop them!"

His dad didn't even slow the car.

"To me?" he said, "Stiles, to me your worth a hundred people."

...xxx...xxx...

The light was beautiful. Brilliant but not blinding, perfect, glorious. It appealed to Derek, called him forward, promising warmth and welcome and love. He might have been mesmerized into a stupor if Scott hadn't knocked into him, lost in his own stupor.

"Ow!" Scott complained, sounding more seven than seventeen.

"Shut up," Derek snapped, falling back to reality with a snap, "we've got things to do."

"Yeah, I do know!" Scott moaned.

Falling apart already. They needed to get on with it, and they couldn't risk showing weakness in front of the fae. "Focus, Scott," Derek snapped, "We're doing this for Stiles. Remember?"

It didn't help. Scott looked even more affronted, insulted, "Of course I…"

"We have to show a united front," Derek interrupted, "We have to work together."

"We are!" Scott growled.

"We have to stop fighting," Derek growled back.

"Then stop fighting!" Scott growled back.

"I'm not fighting!" Derek replied.

"This is entertaining," interrupted a voice. "A fight about fighting."

Scott and Derek both reacted instantly. In the blink of an eye they were side by side, crouched ready to attack the owner of the voice. The response got them a delighted, tinkling laugh.

"Allies when it matters? That's just charming."

Before them, sat upon thin air as though it were as substantial as a couch, was a beautiful creature. Its shape transcended race and gender, long and lithe and firm as a dancer, but taller than Derek. It looked like a human had been stretched. It grinned at them.

"We so rarely have visitors," it said, "What would you have with the regent of the fairies?"

Scott and Derek looked at each other. Derek wanted nothing more than to take charge, but Scott was the alpha.

Scott stepped forward, standing straighter, but still keeping enough bounce in his feet that he could spring should he need to. "We come to ask for you to stop our friend being taken by a fae," he said, teenage voice as strong as he could make it, and yet without challenge or disrespect.

The fae did not look impressed, "And who are you to make such an impertinent demand?"

Scott drew himself up, made himself as tall as he could, "I am Scott McCall, a natural alpha of Beacon Hills, and this is Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale. We are the descendants of the Hale pack."

Derek tried not to show how much his skin crawled at Scott claiming Hale descent when the boy had never even met them.

"A pair of dogs," said the fae, "mere mortals. We could send you mad, you know? Make you forget all about this friend because you'll be too busy arguing with the voices in your head."

Fighting his anger, the need to fight against the insult and the threat, Derek barely managed to stay contrite. Scott, who would take the dog comments less personally, having not been born a wolf, managed to keep his voice steady, "Please," he tried, "We're not trying to be disrespectful. We are here because we love Stiles and we don't want to lose him."

The fae shook its head and tutted, "Barely concealed hostility will not ingratiate you with the queen."

Derek caught Scott's eye, shared the same worried look, and Scott tried again, "We would do whatever necessary to protect Stiles."

The fae's face lit up with a strange and bright smile, "Better," it said, "Now, humility, too."

"Humility?" Derek repeated, angry.

The fae snapped its gaze to him, eyebrows arched and angry, "That will be difficult for you, I see," it said, "You are more proud even than your alpha."

Even without his permission, Derek knew he was growling. Albeit quietly, he knew both Scott and the fae could hear. The creature leapt gracefully from its perch on the air, "Come on, doggy," it sneered, "how important is your Stiles to you?"

Derek glared hard. He wanted to rip this thing apart.

"He's important enough to make you come here," the fae continued, "important enough that you would risk your life, but not important enough for you to ... kneel? Not important enough for you to forget your pride and admit to your mortal worthlessness?"

Derek glared hard, growled, but dropped to his knees, bowing his head. "I beg you not to take Stiles from us."

"Derek…" Scott whispered.

The fae stepped forward, slow steps making soft hisses against the air. Its hand slipped against Derek's cheek, soft as air, "Well done, little wolf," it whispered. It pushed his face up until their eyes met, smiling cheerfully. "Now all you have to do is beg the right fae."

…xxx…xxx…xxx…

"Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad, seriously, I can do this all day, Dad! Dad!"

Stupid Dad, learning the ignoring tactic at exactly the wrong moment.

"Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Isaac. Dad, Isaac. Dad. Isaac."

He hated both of them.

"Isaac. Dad!"

Both as stubborn as mules and twice as stupid. "Seriously! Derek and Scott could die! Do you think I want to live in a world where I caused that? Do you?"

Isaac's head moved. He at least was showing a sign of shame. Though it was nothing like powerful enough.

"It's their choice," he mumbled.

"No, it's their stupid emotional reaction," said Stiles, angrily.

"Don't engage with him, Isaac," said Dad, "He's good at talking people round. Master manipulator. Leave him be."

"They could die!" Stiles cried, angrily.

Dad shook his head at Isaac, who glanced worriedly at Stiles, before returning, reluctantly but surely, like a student who has procrastinated too long, back to the window.

Stiles felt like screaming.

They pulled up outside the Stilinkski house, and the sheriff climbed out of the car. Isaac followed suit. They had a short discussion about whether or not to leave him locked in the back of the cruiser, knowing it would be near impossible for him to escape, but eventually decided it wasn't worth it.

"There's nothing he can do now," said Isaac, "Deaton would have started the spell. They'll be in the presence of the fae. Stiles can't stop it."

"You suck," Stiles grumbled at him, "Like, really suck. And if my friends die, I'm going to fucking torture you. Until you die."

"He won't," said the sheriff.

Isaac was strangely pale, though. It made Stiles feel inexcusably smug.

The sheriff opened the door, and filled the whole doorway, "Stiles, I want you to go to your room. You can do whatever you want in there, but I don't want you to leave it until we get the all clear from Deaton. Do you understand?"

Stiles glared. He wished his glare was as powerful as Derek's. "I'm not an idiot," he retorted.

The sheriff half-smiled, "That's a debate for another time," he mumbled, "Now, do you need cuffing to Isaac to get you up there, or will you walk by yourself?"

Stiles took a moment. Could he slip away if he played contrite? One step out of the car then take off on foot? But he knew instantly it wouldn't work. Isaac was a pessimistic and stupidly-dressed werewolf, but a werewolf none-the-less. He could catch up with Stiles in a second. Stiles scowled.

"I'll go by myself," he grumbled.

The sheriff nodded and stood back, allowing Stiles the space to climb out of the cruiser, but not an inch more. Stiles imagined that his sheriff skills were in full force. If Stiles muscles made a flicker in the wrong direction, Stiles would be on the floor with his hands in cuffs. And Stiles didn't want to be on the floor with anyone except Derek. So he would behave. For now.

They went into the house, and the sheriff walked Stiles upstairs. Isaac followed awkwardly, and the second they got to Stiles' bedroom, Stiles slammed the door shut in their faces. He heard his father sigh. Isaac called through the wood, "I can hear you, you know?"

Stiles grumbled under his breath about scarf-wearing idiots.

"I look good in scarves," said Isaac, but thankfully, Stiles heard him make his way back downstairs.

His room was pretty boring. He looked at the window for whole minutes, considering the likelihood of Isaac hearing him clambering out. Maybe if he put on some loud music, Isaac would be confused enough for an attempt. He considered it for a long moment before he dropped down onto the bed.

And grumbled loudly enough that he knew Isaac would hear about stupid werewolves and their stupid hearing and stupid doing as their alpha tells them like stupid robots.

He lay on his bed, stewing in anger, at Isaac, at Derek, Scott, Dad and himself. He was so screwed. He imagined losing everything, and everyone. His Dad, his friends, his pack, his lover and the whole town. The fae could destroy it, Stiles' research had proven that. They could level somewhere as small as Beacon Hills in moments, and it would be all Stiles' fault for not being able to stop them in their stupid mission to save him. Risking themselves for him was stupid enough. Who was he in comparison to Derek and Scott? But risking everything?

Except Stiles hadn't told them they were risking everything. He was too much of a coward.

And now, Stiles had no clue what to do about it.

…xxx…xxx…

"Is this what the fae are about?" Derek growled, "Teasing and playing and making themselves feel stronger by making people feel crap?"

"No," said the fae, "But it is fun."

"We want to protect our friend," said Scott, "Can you help us or not?"

The fae grinned, "Do you know which of our kind wishes to take him?"

Scott looked expectantly to Derek. Derek shook his head, "No," he admitted sadly, "It appeared as Stiles' Mom."

"Did it give you a name?" the fae asked.

Derek shook his head again, trying not to get lost to the despair that was growing within him.

"Hm, quite a risk you're taking then," said the fae, "fight a creature you don't know, capable of things you've never imagined, for some mortal who would die anyway."

"He's not just 'some mortal'!" Scott snapped.

"Is he magical?" asked the fae, "Does his company add to your wealth or power? Does he control the elements or hold sway over the minds of humans?"

"He likes to think he can," said Derek, fondly.

"No, he doesn't," said Scott, "that's not how we decide on someone's value."

"Really?" said the fae, "That's strange. I'm surprised a fae would be after someone so ordinary."

"We never said he was ordinary," said Derek.

"So what's special about him?" asked the fae.

"You sound genuinely curious," said Scott.

It shrugged, "The fae rarely pay attention to the ordinary humans, these years. It's strange to think of one going to the bother of taking someone with no powers or abilities."

"These years?" Scott asked.

"Well, obviously, when we were powerful enough not to care what the humans thought, we'd take who we wanted when we wanted. We like to think those years can return, but until then, we are careful about how frequently we take from the humans. If we take a child, they're usually a creature of magic, with power that our race needs." The fae shrugged. "Sometimes we just like them, though."

"Well, everybody likes Stiles," said Scott.

"Would you call him a naughty child?"

"A what?" both Scott and Derek cried, bemused.

"Well, the bodach take naughty children," said the fae, matter of factly, "they like naughty children."

"Well… I mean… he ran away from home…" said Scott.

"And has broken the law a few times," said Derek.

"And, you know, kidnap and planning break ins, and causing minor injuries to himself and his friends. And he gets bored easily. And sometimes, you know, plays pranks on people. And…"

"So, that's a yes?" said the fae, "We're going with a bodach?"

"I don't think it wants him because he behaves badly…" said Derek, "It didn't seem to… I mean… it seemed to be saying other things."

"Well, we have to have some idea," said the fae, "I can't go to the queen and say, 'these werewolves want us to stop someone taking their friend.'"

"Why not?" Scott asked.

The fae gave him a long suffering look, like a teacher who really should never have entered the profession, "Because even if the queen chose to help you, she can't ban everyone from taking any mortal! There'd be a riot."

"We just want to protect Stiles," said Derek. "Please."

The fae sighed. "Very well, I shall take you before her. Ask what you please, but I warn you, she will not be impressed. And I wonder how you plan to pay her for the favor."

It turned and walked gracefully towards the light. Derek and Scott exchanged a worried glance before following, having to hurry to keep up.


	14. Chapter 14

The fae led them into a perfectly circular clearing. A ring of fungus sprang up around them, colorful toadstools and mushrooms and strange plants. Derek shivered, wondering if any of them were poisonous to werewolves. He decided he was not going to eat or drink anything while he was here, even to be polite.

"Wait here," said the fae, "Her magnificence will arrive when she is ready." It patted Derek's head, "You might want to work on that humility, puppy."

Derek shook the hand off, disgusted, which only served to entertain the fae further.

"Now, now, little puppy, that won't do! You'll never get your way if you can't please."

The tone, the smile, the words made Derek shiver.

"Do we need to practice kneeling again?" asked the fae.

"No," Derek growled.

The fae shook its head, "Humility, pup. Bow your head, look contrite. Know your betters."

Derek felt his claws digging into his hands. He hadn't noticed how quickly he was losing control.

"Do you think I'm being cruel, little dog?" breathed the fae, "Do you think I'm teasing you for my own amusement?" It laughed, "Well, I am a little, but do you know what the queen will do if you growl? If you disobey an order? If you fail to show her the reverence she expects?"

Derek shook his head, heart picking up.

"Think of the multitude of ways she can humiliate you," said the fae, seriously, "then accept that your imagination, at the age of barely a quarter of a century, living in one country in one world with very limited magic, cannot compare in magnitude to that of an immortal creature with unlimited power. You are nothing here."

"Why are you picking on me?" Derek grumbled, "Scott's just as bad."

"He's the alpha," said the fae, "It's understandable in him. And he, still, does not have your pride. He has anger and jealousies, but I could have him grovelling beneath my feet in seconds. You would fight and look for escape. Even now, you've knelt, you've begged, but you still don't think any differently."

"It's hard to find respect for kidnappers," said Derek.

"One of us may be a kidnapper," said the creature, "and only if this boy truly doesn't wish to go. The fae only take those wished away by parents or themselves."

"Stiles doesn't want to go," Derek growled.

"So you say," replied the fae.

Derek felt the need to glare harder, "Threats and intimidation are not the same as consent."

"Are they not?" said the fae with a grin.

Derek frowned, "Of course they're…"

A strange music struck up, making both werewolves jump. They formed ranks again, standing side by side, ready to strike.

"Down, dogs," cried the fae, "You should be bowing, not ready to fight."

"What is that?" asked Scott, "That music?"

"The court assembles," cried the fae, "bow for her majesty!"

The light grew blinding, painful. Derek threw his arm across his eyes. The music grew to a crescendo.

…xxx…xxx…xxx…

Stiles was not good at dealing with idleness at the best of times. Boredom when he had options was hard enough. Boredom while waiting to find out if two of the people he loved most in the world were still alive was impossible to cope with.

He lay on the bed, tapping his feet, beating a rhythm with his fingers on his belly. He got up and paced. He tried to have a thumb war with himself but it was very unsatisfying. He went online and looked up fairies and fae and got a million pages of Disney films, children's stories and crazy people. He hated researching when he couldn't trust the source material, so he shut the laptop and went back to patting his stomach.

He got the first text soon after.

"Are you OK?"

From an unknown number.

He looked at it for a few moments, wondering who could have sent it. He had numbers for everyone in the pack, and most hangers on including the parents. Maybe Scott or Derek were sending it from a borrowed phone inside fairyland? But they would have said, wouldn't they?

Stiles decided to ignore it. It was probably a wrong number anyway.

He ignored that little voice that reminded him of someone else who might choose to communicate with him.

…xxx…xxx…

"Your most glorious and perfect majesty, great queen and protector of the fair folk, these two mortal werewolves beg an audience."

A crowd had gathered, strange creatures, like people but too long or to too narrow or too small or with proportions that were wrong, too much arm, too much leg, too long fingers. They lined the circle, a living barrier surrounding them, caging them. There was no escape.

"They don't look like they're begging," commented one of the gathered fae.

"They look like they want to fight," said another.

"Can we bring them down to size, your majesty?"

"Kneel," hissed the fae that had first greeted them, "kneel and her majesty may choose to be generous."

Surrounded, helpless, Derek urged to rip, to fight, to attack and to kill. His claws were full, his teeth and face transformed.

"Derek!" Scott hissed, "Derek! Stop!"

"Listen to your alpha, dog," hissed the fae, grinning wide.

"Derek, think of Stiles! We have to beg for Stiles! What would he think of you right now?"

"Are you going to fight them all, dog?" sneered the fae. "Or are you going to accept your place and bow to the fae!"

"Do it for Stiles!" cried Scott, "For Stiles!"

Derek closed his eyes. Stiles would be rolling his. He knew about Derek's short temper, and liked to tease him anyway. He'd be calling him names right now, disparaging his eyebrows or something. Derek could calm down for Stiles. He could beg for Stiles. He could do anything for Stiles.

He bowed his head.

"Your majesty," he breathed, half growl, half plea, "We beg for the life of Stiles Stilinski."

In the corner of his eye, he saw Scott mirroring him, looking relieved. The gathered creatures laughed and smirked at them, but Derek managed to stop caring. Or maybe delay caring.

One of the creatures stepped forward. The tallest, the strangest, the least human. The others quieted as it moved, watching it with adoration and expectation.

"Who are you?" it asked.

Derek flinched, knowing the words Scott had already used. Scott managed for him, "We are werewolves of Beacon Hills, I am Scott McCall, the alpha, and this is Derek Hale, son of Talia Hale."

The creature, presumably the queen, seemed to contemplate them. "Talia Hale. Is this a name that should mean something to me?"

Derek flinched again. First to hear his mother mentioned casually, then have her dismissed just as casually hurt.

"Majesty," interjected a small fae by the queen's side. "Talia Hale was a prominent werewolf. Other werewolves used to respect her greatly."

The queen nodded to her follower then turned a piercing gaze on Derek, "I noticed the use of the words 'used to'" she said, "What happened to your mother?"

Derek let his gaze drop to the floor.

"She died," Scott supplied for him, "Some years ago."

The queen rolled her eyes. "It's so hard to keep track of them," she mumbled, "always dying or breeding, how am I supposed to know any of them?"

The small fae, who Derek suspected was some kind of advisor, coughed politely, "Majesty, it is customary amongst humans to offer kind sentiments when you learn of a death." It offered Derek a sad smile.

The queen looked bemused more than chastised "But they all die. Every single one of them! Haven't they just got over it, yet?"

Her assistant blushed. Derek was pleased to think the fae were capable of blushing, "I think, majesty, it is kind words and the camaraderie they offer that allow the humans to continue their existence despite the knowledge that they will, one day, die."

Derek had a feeling that Stiles would have taken this conversation in his sarcastic stride. Thankfully, Scott seemed as lost for words as Derek was.

"Oh fine," sighed the queen, "I'm sorry for your loss, Derek Hale son of Talia Hale. I hope that your days are not filled with the loneliness and hopelessness of your mortality and imminent death."

Derek blinked, and pictured Stiles' inevitable rudeness, "Er, thank you," he said.

"Will that do, Elfryda?" asked the queen.

"Er… yes, your majesty," said the assistant, Elfryda, almost purple with embarrassment.

"So, you're here to beg for something," said the queen, vaguely to Scott and Derek, "What was it again?"

"Stiles," said Derek, "one of the fae has threatened to kidnap him on his eighteenth birthday."

"Style…" said the queen, "that's something to do with fashion, isn't it?"

"Stiles Stilinski," said Scott, "He's our friend. A boy. He's seventeen."

"Oh," said the queen, looking immensely uninterested.

Derek blinked. What should the next move be?

"Majesty, we beg that the fae leave Stiles alone," said Scott. "He has friends and family who love him, and he wishes to stay with us."

The queen sighed again, "What is he?"

The question took them by surprise yet again, "Majesty?" asked Scott.

"What is he?" the queen repeated, as though speaking to idiots, "A wizard? A druid? A sorcerer?"

Scott chanced a glance at Derek, "Well, he's…"

"Eugh," said the queen, "don't tell me he's just a werewolf!"

"Not even," said the fae that had greeted them.

"Not even?" said the queen, "what is he then?"

"He's a human," said Scott.

"A human?" repeated the queen, as disgusted as if she'd been talking about a bathroom.

It made Derek irrationally furious. "Yes, he's human! And he's clever and funny and beautiful and perfect and he's worth a million of you!"

A hush fell over the gathered creatures. The queen, too, looked surprised, and slightly impressed.

"That was quite an outburst," said the queen, "Do you love him?"

There was nothing more important than Stiles, so Derek could only nod.

Scott was frowning at him, but the other fae were watching him as though he were a mildly amusing television show. The queen, smiled.

"Mortals are so fun when they're in love," she said, "it's almost worth taking one of you so the other one goes crazy."

She gazed into his eyes, as rage and terror took up residence in him again.

She stepped closer, even as Derek's claws lengthened once more, "Tell me, werewolf, would you be willing to swap places?"

"With Stiles?" Derek breathed.

The queen nodded, "Yes, with Stiles."

"In an instant," said Derek.

Scott stepped closer, "Er, Derek, I'm not sure we're going for the right tactics here."

"Oh, calm down, alpha," said the queen, "he's not destroyed your chances. He's just helping me choose the price."

"The price?" The original fae, the one that had greeted them, looked furious, "Majesty, these dogs have insulted you! Their every move is disrespectful and insolent!"

"They're humans, Edana, I hardly expect them to understand every intricacy of the sealie court."

Edana, the wolf that had greeted them, gazed open mouthed, "But majesty! The werewolf growled, his claws were extended!"

"He is fighting his every instinct," said the queen, "I remember a little from those discussions with Lycaon when they first came about, the wolf part of him would do anything to destroy the threat to his pack, and more so for his mate."

Edana gaped, "But… but majesty…"

A whole new fury grew in Derek, as realization struck him.

"You," he growled, clawed hand pointing at Edana, the fae that had met them.

The fae suddenly started whispering to each other. Scott looked at him confused, but Derek just carried on.

"You, pretending to be giving us advice, telling us how to behave, when all you wanted was to make me angry."

Scott whispered, "Why would she be trying to make you angry?"

Edana glowered, "Quiet, puppy," she hissed.

Derek felt himself transforming once more, anger and hatred overwhelming him. "You," he growled, "are trying to take Stiles away from me."

Somewhere to his left, Scott growled. The whispering of the court grew louder, like angry bees. The queen looked amused. Edana smirked.

...xxx...xxx...

Stiles' phone buzzed again.

He should probably ignore it. It was probably not a good thing to read anything that was being sent to him by an unknown number while he was being stalked by a supernatural creature.

It buzzed again.

Stiles was only human. And anyway, it could be Lydia or Deaton with awful news or Derek asking him over for celebratory sex or something equally unlikely.

He picked it up.

'Stiles?'

'Are you protected?'

'I'll come looking for you if I don't get a response. Enjoy explaining that to your Dad.'

That made Stiles frown. A weird mixture of concern and semi-threat.

'Who even is this?' he texted back.

It didn't take long to get a response.

'Can't you guess, Stiles?'

Stiles blinked.

'Feigned concern, veiled threats and a game? I'd say Peter, except if this is Peter, how the fuck did you get my number?'

Again, the answer was quick.

'Obviously I borrowed Derek's phone when he was distracted by one of your teenage crises. Or maybe it was Scott's. Are you OK? You guys weren't at Derek's.'

Stiles rolls his eyes, that even in mock concern Peter can throw in something disparaging. He replied anyway, willing to give Peter the benefit of the slight-concern-for-his-nephew doubt 'Yeah, Scott and Derek have gone to negotiate with the fae.'

Again, quick reply. Quicker than a zombie werewolf who had slept through the majority of the last decade had any right to be

'So they left you alone?'

'Is that concern or judgment?'

'I will always be judgmental of my nephew's decisions. It's my duty as an uncle. Have you got someone looking after you?'

Stiles rolled his eyes, and wondered if it was weird how entertaining he'd been finding Peter recently, 'Obviously Scott and Derek ordered Isaac to watch me because they're both massive soccer moms.'

'So you're alone with your dad and Isaac?'

Well, der, thought Stiles. To Peter he text 'Do you know how creepy you've been lately?'

He put the phone down, ready to ignore it. Peter was weird, Stiles didn't need to read any more. He almost didn't look when another text arrived, but the new words took his breath away.

'Not as creepy as I will be when I kill your dad.'

…xxx…xxx…

Derek was crouched, ready to pounce, claws extended, lip curled. He was ready to fight, ready to tear the fae before him limb from limb.

"Come on, dog," sang Edana, "try to bite me! You'd look good in a muzzle and leash."

"Edana!" The queen looked angry. She took a few steps towards the fae and the gathered court drew back. Edana looked taken aback.  
"Majesty?" she said, clearly not expecting this reaction.

"Don't 'Majesty?' me, Edana!" hissed the queen, "you have done nothing but fuel this conflict."

Edana looked affronted, "Majesty, it was not I who disrespected you, who showed you aggression and impudence!"

"You have orchestrated the offence to me, and you have brought disharmony to the court!" snapped the queen, "This is most displeasing to me."

Edana looked around the court. Maybe she was judging the support she could expect. It didn't look vast. The assembled fae were avoiding her eyes, watching the queen reverently, nervously. Edana dropped her gaze into submission, showing her deference to her ruler.

"Majesty, I beg your forgiveness, it was never my intention to dishonor you." She bowed low, her whole long body dropping to barely feet from the floor. "You know you have my undying loyalty and adoration."

Derek glared harder. With no understanding of fae culture, he didn't dare interfere now things seemed to be turning in their direction.

"Then what was your intention, Edana?" the queen demanded, "What did you think would be the outcome of this?"

"I simply wished to take a human as my companion," said Edana, "which is my ancient right."

"You know that I do not refer to your chosen companion," said the queen coolly, "why did you choose to behave in this way?"

Edana spared an extra glare in Derek's direction. "I feared you would heed these werewolves, majesty," she said, "I needed to show you that they're dangerous! That my precious Stiles needs to be rescued from them!"

"Rescued from us?" Scott cried, furiously, angrily, "he's not in danger from us!"

"Really?" Edana scorned, "how many times has he been hurt since you became a wolf, McCall? How many times has he been hurt, or kidnapped, or possessed? How many times has his life been in danger?"

"We will always protect him!" Scott shouted, "He's my best friend!"

"But it's your fault he got caught up in all this in the first place! You werewolves!"

"Actually, it was kinda Stiles' fault I got turned into…"

"Enough!" The queen threw her hand into the air, and complete silence fell on the assembled fae. Scott and Derek held their breath.

The queen stepped carefully and thoughtfully around the circle, playing by her own rules, walking at her own pace. When she spoke it was with perfect calmness. "Edana, have you obeyed the ancient rules in your dealings with this human?"

Edana looked affronted by the question, "Of course, majesty! Nothing could persuade me…"

"So you are waiting for the mortal's consent before you take him?"

"Naturally," replied Edana, with a hard look.

The queen nodded, then turned to Scott and Derek. "Edana cannot and will not take this child without his consent. If she tries, she will face the ancient laws of our land. But will you accept his wishes should he choose to go?"

"He won't choose to go!" Scott cried.

The queen ignored him, "If he is in danger, as Edana says, then it is the duty of human authorities to protect him, not of us."

"Majesty!" Edana protested.

"Hush, Edana," said the queen. "These are the ancient rules of the fae. You know them, and now so do the mortals. If, after he has turned eighteen, this boy chooses to make a life in the land of the fae, he shall be welcomed. If he chooses not to, that decision will be respected."

Derek and Scott chanced a glance at each other. Could it really be as simple as that?

Edana bowed low, "I respect your decision, majesty."

The queen nodded, looking satisfied. "Good," she said, "That will suffice. And as a penalty for wasting my time, all three of you will stay here for the rest of the day."

"What?" snapped Edana, for once echoing Derek's thoughts perfectly.

"This reality will cease to exist after twelve hours. At that time, you will all be returned to the last place you were when it appeared. Until then, the three of you will stay here, and maybe you will realize that you do not waste my time."

The court shimmered, murmured with approval, and began to depart, suddenly and without ceremony. The queen, too, vanished, and Derek, Scott and Edana were left, standing awkwardly apart from each other.

…xxx…xxx…

"What?" Stiles cried aloud, even as a new text arrived.

"Stiles?" called Isaac, "You OK?"

'If you mention this to Isaac I will kill them both.'

"Stiles?" Isaac called again.

"I'm fine!" Stiles shouted, hoping that he was far enough away that he couldn't hear the lie in his heartbeat.

"Are you sure?" Isaac called, and Stiles could hear his feet on the stairs.

"Can I go to Deaton's now?" Stiles replied.

"No," said Isaac.

"Then no, I'm not OK!" Stiles shouted back.

He heard Isaac retreat mumbling to himself, and he was not at all certain he was making the right choice.

He looked at his phone, seeing the threat, 'If you even try to hurt my dad, I will trap you in a circle of mountain ash and give you small doses of wolfs bane every few hours until you forget what it felt like not to be in pain.'

Peter sent him the least appropriate smiley face the world has ever known.

'You haven't said anything, though, have you?'

Stiles glared at the words, frustrated at himself for letting them be true.

'What do you want?' he text back.

…xxx…xxx…xxx…

The court were gone. Now there was just a circle, Scott, Derek and the fae that was trying to take Stiles.

Derek growled. He had no control over it, low and angry and guttural, torn from his throat. He might have expected Scott to try to scold him, the petty child playing at being a leader trying to calm the raw emotion that Derek felt, the anger, the loss, the pain, the misery, the fear. But Scott was by his side, growling just as loudly as him.

Edana turned, with barely any alarm in her eyes. "Go on then, puppies," she hissed, "do your worse."

Derek pounced first. Claws extended, wolf vision, teeth wild. He sprang at the fae in rage. She merely stepped aside faster than anyone had the right to. Scott followed suit, attacking with ferocity he'd rarely shown. This time the fae caught him, used his momentum to throw him into Derek. They both fell to the ground in a heap, but both sprang up again, ready to attack.

"See?" cried Edana, "Violent monsters! Look at your faces!"

"You're the one trying to kidnap a teenage boy!" Scott growled.

"And he's the one trying to fuck a teenage boy!" Edana replied, giving Derek a look of hatred, making Derek growl and pounce once again. Edana sprang over his head this time, practically tickling him with her toes. He tried to be as fast, followed her movements, but whatever he did he was a tiny fraction of a second behind her, claws where her feet should have been.

"Derek!" Scott shouted, maybe remembering his own self-righteous moral code.

Derek could only growl at him, too. The usurper of his pack, thief of his family honor, trying to steal his mate and order him around.

Edana was hissing at him, "That's it, monster, show your true colors! Turncoat! Rapist!"

Derek turned back on her. He wanted to destroy her.

"DEREK!"

Alpha voice. Being used on him. He was instantly human, but still impossibly furious.

"What are you doing?" he shouted.

"We need to question her!" said Scott. "Why does she want Stiles?"

Derek could not understand, "She wants him as a trophy, to show she can take who she wants! It doesn't matter! It's up to us to protect him."

"I don't think…"

"No, you don't think!" Derek shouted, "You'd be dead ten times over if it wasn't for Stiles!"

"Dude, I care about him too!" Scott shouted.

"Then help me kill her!" growled Derek.

"Wait," said Scott. He turned to Edana, face transformed, eyes red, showing his alpha status, "Why do you want Stiles?"

Edana folded her arms, glared. "You pretend to be his friends," she sneered, "yet you don't even know how special he is?"

"We know why we love him," said Scott, "Why do you want him?"

Edana actually had the gall to smirk. "Ignorant dogs," she sneered.

"Then tell us!" snapped Scott.

Edana shook her head. "Foolish mortals. In exactly eight days, I shall come to pick up my beautiful boy. He will agree to go, and there is nothing you can do about it."

And with that she sprang into the air. Derek tried one last pounce, one last effort to get her, but she was gone.

"I thought she couldn't leave, either?" said Scott.

Derek rolled his eyes, and looked at Edana where she floated, effortlessly, up above their heads to wait out their punishment. Just as Scott and Derek were forced to at ground level.

…xxx…xxx…xxx…

'Put your phone on silent.'

'OK' Stiles replied, and went to the settings, turning off vibrate, far too terrified to do anything else.

'Have you still got the pouch I gave you?'

Stiles' hand flew to his pocket where the pouch of herbs was waiting patiently.

'Yes' he replied.

'All you need to do is sprinkle some of the white powder into Isaac's drink'

Stiles pushed back tears, 'I'm not poisoning Isaac' he replied, quickly.

'I'd never dream I could make you, Stiles. It is only wolfsbane, and in a tiny quantity will do nothing more than give him a few hours well deserved sleep. If you succeed, when I arrive at your house in ten minutes, I will allow you to handcuff your father to a radiator or something, and no one will need their throat cut.'

'Why?' Stiles replied.

'This is not turning into a tedious Bond villain moment, Stiles. Do as you are told and nobody dies. This is my only offer. Neither your father nor Isaac are of any interest to me. I will enter your home in ten minutes. If I find anything amiss, your father pays the price. And calm down. If Isaac hears a lie, he dies.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to hear what you have to say - comments are always welcome!


	15. Chapter 15

Peter Hale. Monster.

Stiles had known this from the first time he'd seen Peter standing up rather than comatose, and it was insane to think of this as a betrayal. The weird-ass creepy faux-concern should never have fooled Stiles. He was furious with himself.

He made his way downstairs, mulling over his options. He knew he was no match for Peter. He wasn't going to win a physical fight with any of the werewolves, and Peter was clever too. He was clearly a number of steps ahead of Stiles, and Stiles wondered how long he'd been planning… whatever this was.

He saw Isaac sitting on the couch, frowning at him, and watching him. Isaac was tall, but slim. His hair was curled like a fucking renaissance painting of angels. He'd held his own against the twins, but he'd been under the influence of other forces at the time. If Stiles warned him, could he beat Peter in a fight?

"Stiles?" Isaac was frowning in his direction, "You OK?"

"No," said Stiles, trying to remember all the things that made Isaac a dick.

Isaac nodded, "They'll be OK, you know?" he said, quietly and with little doubt.

Stiles could only hum in response, trying to remember the negative crap Isaac had said at the wrong moment, trying to remember how Isaac had pursued Allison when Scott was probably still in love with her. Except, Scott was already with Kira by then, wasn't he?

"They're Scott and Derek," said Isaac, "they always are."

He wore scarves in the summer. That was stupid. Except, probably not really worthy of the punishment of death.

"Hey, son," his dad called from the kitchen.

His dad. The most important man in his life. If his dad died… he couldn't even finish the thought. It was too horrid, too hideous, too vile. His dad was his dad.

"Hey, Dad," he said.

Dad gave him a small smile, maybe trying to be nice to him, "You want something to eat?"

"Er… I'll make it," Stiles offered, stumbling towards the kitchen.

"It's OK," said his dad, "I can…"

"Please, I need… something to do," said Stiles.

"Ok," said dad, eyes kind and soft. God, Stiles loved him.

Isaac would probably not die if Stiles did as Peter asked. Probably.

He looked at his phone once more. He'd received a new message from Peter.

"News from Deaton?" asked dad.

Stiles shook his head.

'I know you will be thinking about how to outwit me. Know that you can't. I can already hear what is going on in your house. If you try anything, your dad will suffer for it.'

Stiles concentrated on keeping his heartbeat steady.

He could text Deaton. Tell him about Peter. Except, Scott and Derek were in a not entirely real realm. If Deaton got distracted, could it put them at more risk of being stuck there? Was that a risk Stiles was willing to take?

He made his way into the kitchen and started to make three cups of coffee. Dad and Isaac were watching TV now, but Stiles knew Isaac would be listening to him too. He had to be stealthy. He disguised the noise of the pouch, as tiny as it could be, by trying to use the sugar at the same time. He put sugar into the one for his dad, and white powder into the one for Isaac.

He wondered if Isaac would smell it. He didn't know if he hoped he would or not.

He considered the remaining wolfs bane. Was there a way to maybe shoot Peter when he arrived? These weren't bullets but... could Stiles coat some bullets in it? He thought back to when Derek was shot with a bullet packed with wolfs bane. It had taken hours to bring him down, and he'd been stronger than Stiles for most of that. Could the three of them take Peter down if he was fighting the effects?

No, that wouldn't work. Peter would know. He would smell or hear that Stiles had disobeyed him. They'd never get the chance to shoot him. He'd sneak attack, take them out one at a time, and get whatever it was he wanted anyway.

'Seven minutes. Be careful, the powder takes a few minutes to work. You want to hurry.'

Fighting back the wave of nausea, knowing that right now, with the psycho counting down, his options were massively limited. He should have stocked up on mountain ash as Scott had, but he suspected Peter would have considered that anyway. And it would only take a passing natural creature to break such protection anyway. And it was no protection against projectiles.

'Isaac was never deserving of the bite. I can hear every word he says and he doesn't even know I'm here.'

Stiles threw open the refrigerator. He made a show of getting milk, but quickly found what he was really after. He pulled out a bottle of water, quickly opening it and throwing in a generous pinch of Peter's white powder. Whatever it was, and whatever it did to Isaac, surely it could do the same to Peter. Stiles just had to be clever. He shoved the bottle into the pocket of his hoody and picked up the coffees for his dad and Isaac, carefully keeping them the right way round in his head. He handed them over wordlessly, getting thanks from them both, and making himself feel awful, then went back into the kitchen pulling out his phone once more.

'Well done, Stiles. I know that was difficult for you. I promise you it was the right decision.'

Stiles noticed there were no promises that no one else would get hurt. No promises that his dad would be OK. He'd already made his threat, repeating it would only stop Peter believing it. He needed a weapon. A proper one.

He pulled open one of the draws, and chose one of the knives, finding a balance between being able to hide it and it being enough to damage Peter. "I'm making a sandwich," he called out, in case Peter could hear and was wondering what he was up to. He turned on the faucet and held the knife in the stream of water for a few seconds, then rolled it in Peter's powder. It clung better than it would have to a dry knife, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

He wrapped the knife in a towel and shoved it down his pants, trying to cover it with his shirt just in time for the doorbell to ring.

He heard his dad mumbling about not expecting anyone. Isaac didn't reply, but Dad didn't notice. Stiles did. He burned with shame, couldn't bear to look at Isaac. Instead he watched his dad as the sheriff started making his way to the front door.

Which he realized he couldn't let him open.

"I'll get it!" Stiles shouted, running past his dad and into the hall.

"Son, you need to get a grip," said his dad, not turning around. Stiles reached the door and just stared at it.

"Well, are you going to open it?" asked dad, sounding slightly amused.

Stiles could barely hear him over his own heartbeat.

"I..." What did Peter want? It was possible he just wanted to kill everyone. And that Stiles had just made it easier for him. "I don't think we should..." Stiles breathed, knowing that Peter would hear, knowing that his dad would struggle.

"What?" said his dad, as Stiles stepped back from the door, ready to run.

"I think we should... make a run for the car... or ... shit... I don't know!" He could hear his own breathing, loud and getting ragged, "You got any wolfs bane bullets?"

"What are you... do you think it's ... it? The fae?" his dad's hand flew to his holster, grabbed his gun.

"No... I think it's Peter," said Stiles. "Dad, please, run. I'll... hold him off, but please..."

"What are you talking about Stiles?" his dad demanded, gun aimed steadily at the door now, but confused eyes on Stiles.

"He's gone psycho again or something, I don't know! Please Dad! I don't want him to hurt you!"

"Stiles, I'm not going to leave you to deal with a werewolf by yourself," said Dad, as though it were Stiles being unreasonable right now.

"Dad!" Stiles moaned, "You don't know what he's capable of! He killed his own niece! He's a psycho! He spent eight years doing nothing but imagine killing people! Please!"

"Oh, Stiles, that's most unfair!" called the coldest voice from the living room. Stiles let the wave of despair swell over him, and hoped to let it pass. He again sprinted in front of his dad, even though Dad had his gun pointing at the door of the living room. "I did far more than imagine killing people," Peter continued, sounding quite proud of himself, "I planned how I'd do it."

Dad tried to push Stiles out of the way with one hand, but Stiles could only stare at Isaac who was still sat on the couch, his head drooping to one side. He'd have looked comfortable if it weren't for heavy chains now wrapped around him, locking his arms to his sides and his feet together.

Stiles could have wept with relief. Peter wouldn't have bothered chaining up a dead man.

"What do you want?" Stiles demanded.

Peter was stood over Isaac, casual as anything, looking calm and smug. "I gave you my instructions Stiles. I think you half fulfilled them. Does that mean I only have to half kill your dad?"

Dad shot him. The bullet hit Peter on the chest, knocking him off his feet. He looked surprised as he landed on one of the chairs, splayed awkwardly.

"Oh my god!" shouted Stiles.

Dad lowered the gun, "He threatened my life, and gave me reason to suspect he would kill my son. There's not a court in the country that would convict me."

Stiles' mind was racing. Peter looked pretty dead with the blood staining his shirt and the glassy expression. But could he be? "But... but… werewolf… did it... wolfs bane?" he managed.

Dad looked at him puzzled, just as Peter sprang back to his feet, arriving at Dad's side in a fraction of a second. He plucked the gun from his hands as though Dad was a baby, and bent the barrel as the bottom fell from Stiles' stomach.

"That really hurt, you know," said Peter, conversationally to Dad's slack-jaw and wide eyes. "This would be so much more satisfying if you were just dead now."

"No!" Stiles shouted. "I did as you asked!"

"And then you tried to get him to rum away, and then he shot me," Peter replied, calmly, as though he had reason on his side.

"OK!" Stiles threw his hands in the air, "We won't try that again, no shooting the zombie werewolf, we get it! You told me if I helped you, you wouldn't hurt him!"

"No, I said no one would have their throat cut," said Peter, "then I said, if anything was amiss, your father would pay the price. I'd say there was much amiss right now."

Dad, who had been staring in shock at the once more resurrected werewolf, seemed to finally remember he was the sheriff.

"Peter Hale, I am arresting you for… agh!"

Peter, without seeming to move, was now holding Stiles' dad's wrist at an impossible angle, almost definitely breaking it. Stiles shouted, wordless fury and fear, as Dad went very still.

"Peter, stop," said Dad, now using his negotiator voice, quiet but still authoritative and yet kind. "Think about what you're doing. You've made some mistakes, I understand a lot of them, really I do, but…"

Peter interrupted with an eye roll, "Sheriff, the only reason you're alive is that Stiles will be less cooperative if you weren't. Your arm is broken because you shot me."

Dad grunted in pain, "Assault and breaking and entering are …"

Peter eased him away from Stiles, "I'm sorry to interrupt what will no doubt be a very moving speech about how I can change my ways after a short stay in prison, et cetera, et cetera, but I have more important…"

Stiles pulled the knife out of his jeans and thrust it at Peter's neck. Peter caught his wrist easily, and threw him against the wall so fast he bumped his head. In the few seconds it took him to catch himself and turn back, Peter had his dad on the floor, the knife Stiles had prepared with wolfs bane held against his dad's throat.

"Foolish, Stiles," said Peter, "foolish."

He stabbed Dad. Stiles screamed before he recognised that the knife was sinking slowly into the muscles of his upper arm. He rushed forwards, landing on his knees by his dad, seeing the blood well to the surface.

"Don't worry, it hasn't touched any of his major arteries there," said Peter, "no damage has been done, just as it would have been for me had you somehow succeeded in your ill-thought-out attack. Do you get it now, Stiles? Your dad pays for your mistakes."

Stiles stared at him. He hadn't needed a demonstration of Peter's brutality. He already knew what the man was capable of. He'd seen Laura's body, seen Lydia covered in blood. But he knew he should not just go along with a plan that Peter came up with. He'd had to do something.

"Stiles, run," gasped his dad, "get to Deaton…"

"He knows I'd outrun him in a second," said Peter, "Now, Stiles, you're going to stay exactly where you are while I handcuff your dad to the stairs."

"Please, he needs a doctor…" Stiles protested.

"You can call Scott's mom as soon as we're out of town," said Peter, pulling up the sheriff as though he were a child. The sheriff offered little resistance with two wounded arms. "Sit on the stairs," he instructed.

"Out of town?" the sheriff repeated. "You're not taking my son!"

"If it helps, I will probably return him eventually," said Peter, "He's an incredible boy, but I suspect I shall find him annoying on a personal level after a while."

"Don't hurt him," said Dad, "Please, don't hurt my son."

"I have no intention of hurting him," said Peter, pushing Dad down to sit on the stairs, then putting his arms around two spindles on the stair, and cuffing them with cuffs from his own pocket, "I know no one believes me, but I actually genuinely like him."

"Then let him stay with his family," Dad pleaded, "If you like him you want wants best for him!"

"Your name is John, isn't it?" Peter asked.

"That's right Peter," said Dad, "talk to me, let me help you."

"John, I have been planning this for a long time," said Peter, "You won't be able to talk me out of it. Stiles will call Melissa McCall once we reach the town line, she will come and treat your arms. You made need stitches and a cast."

"And Isaac?" Dad asked, gaze drifting to the sleeping boy.

"I told Stiles the truth," said Peter, "It's a mild type wolfs bane. He'll wake up in about an hour with a massive headache."

"Peter, please," Dad pleaded, "Stiles is my son."

"That's enough," said Peter, "Stiles, say good bye to your father."

"When will I see him again?" Stiles asked, in barely more than a whisper.

"Stiles, you want to hurry," Peter said, instead of replying, "The sooner your father gets medical attention, the better."

Consoling himself in the knowledge that once they had called Melissa, Peter would have no leverage over him, Stiles bent to hug his dad, being careful of his wounded arms.

"I love you," he told the sheriff.

"I love you too," said Dad, "You be careful, you hear? The only thing I care about is you coming back safe."

"I know," said Stiles, because he didn't think his Dad wanted to know that the most important thing to Stiles was to stop Peter hurting anyone else.

"No heroics!" Dad ordered, because he did know Stiles, "You hear me?"

"Love you," Stiles repeated.

Peter decided they'd finished and took Stiles' upper arm. Stiles stumbled as he was dragged, mostly to annoy Peter slightly more, and then they were out of the house, making their way to Peter's car. Peter held a hand out, and Stiles pretended not to know he was after Stiles' phone. Peter gave him a moment before he went straight for Stiles' pocket, dragged out the phone, and threw it back across the sheriff's lawn. Then he ordered Stiles into the front seat.

Stiles looked around, as Peter nonchalantly made his way to the driver's seat. He knew he had to do as instructed or Peter would make him. There was nowhere to hide, no way to escape.

Yet.

...xxx...xxx...

Out of town seemed further than it ever had before. And then, after they had driven for what felt like an age, and the houses had thinned out, and they'd passed the 'You're now leaving Beacon Hills' sign, Peter still didn't stop.

Stiles glared at him.

"You ..."

"Said the end of town, yes, I know," said Peter. He pulled out his own cell phone, and handed it to Stiles. "If anyone other than Melissa answers, I'll have to take it back and we won't be able to contact anyone until I'm sure we're untraceable. I have her number saved from when we dated, before I get accused of being a creeper again."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You asked her out so you could manipulate Scott into joining your pack, you're totally still a creeper."

"Are you denying it was an effective move?" asked Peter. "Had you not interfered, and had I turned Melissa, I'd be the alpha of a significant pack by now."

Stiles chose not to answer in favor of calling Melissa. It took her a while to answer. Stiles had no idea if she would be at work or not.

"She's not answering," he told Peter in a panic.

Peter shrugged, carelessly, "Well, I did turn her son into a werewolf, she might be screening my calls."

Stiles gaped, "But... my dad is bleeding!"

"Then leave a message," said Peter, like it was obvious.

Stiles did, leaving a garbled mess about his dad. He said Dad was at home about eight times, just to check she'd go to the right place. Then he told her were the spare key was. Then he begged her to hurry.

"Enough," said Peter, "hang up."

"Fuck you," said Stiles, but did as he was told, then started to try Deaton.

The phone was unceremoniously plucked from his hands.

"Hey!" he cried, "she didn't answer! It could take forever for her to get there!"

"It won't," said Peter, "she'll get off shift in a few minutes, then she'll pick up the message and your dad will get stitched up before you know it."

"But… but…"

"Stiles, your father will be fine," said Peter, "If I wanted him dead, he would be dead."

"Or you want me to think he's alive so you have something to hold over me so that I do your evil bidding," Stiles countered.

Peter smiled at him, genuinely, "Have I told you how much I like the way you think?"

Stiles was once more struck by Peter's wrongness, "Oh my god, you're so fucking insane, I can't even…"

"I'm not insane, Stiles," said Peter, "I know exactly what I'm doing and why."

"Fuck you!" Stiles shouted, "Your nephew, one of your last surviving relatives, has gone to negotiate with super powerful beings that could kill him and you're kidnapping teenagers and chaining up law enforcement?"

"Derek will be fine," said Peter, "Calm down."

His voice was still calm. When Derek and Scott were in danger, Isaac was unconscious and Dad was bleeding. Stiles hated him, "Don't you care about anyone?"

Peter sighed, "Stiles, now is not the time."

Stiles flailed as much as the seatbelt let him, "Now is… what the… you fucking…"

"You're tired and upset," said Peter. "And we need to switch positions."

"You…!"

Peter spoke over him, as though he could add nothing to the discussion, "Much as I enjoy being chastised by a seventeen year old, I have to put you in the trunk now."

Stiles stared for a moment, taken aback, then said, "Er, no!"

Peter merely nodded sadly, "Unfortunately, you have no choice in the matter. I know that, for the time being at least, you're going to do everything you can to get away from me. Also, knowing you, it won't be some un-thought-out attempt to just run in a random direction. You're not Scott, and you know I can outrun you and smell you out. You will plan it with all the information you can get. So now I need to remove the significant information of our position. That gives me two options, so it's either the trunk or I blindfold you, and a blindfolded teenager in the front seat would attract attention. Not to mention I'd need to tie you up to stop you removing the blindfold."

Peter had said that whole thing as though he were a science teacher explaining how chemical reactions worked. He said it as though it were unarguable truth. Stiles flailed again. "Why are you talking like anything you're saying is reasonable?"

"Because I am being reasonable," said Peter. "I understand you're put out at the idea of being taken from your home, but I'm thinking about the greater good." He pulled the car onto a dirt track, the kind where he could be sure no one would pass them and accidentally see him putting Stiles in the trunk.

It was Stiles' last chance to run before he didn't know the way home. He took it.

As soon as the car had gotten slow enough, he threw open the door, stumbled to get out and sprinted towards the main road. It was his best chance. Peter had admitted to not wanting attention. Grabbing a boy in full view of passing motorists on the highway would definitely do just that.

He felt Peter overtake him, and didn't have time to stop before he was ploughing into the werewolf's chest. Hands grabbed each of his elbows, and shoved them back. He was still yards from the highway, with tall trees and bushes on either side of them obstructing the view of motorists.

He looked up at Peter's face, but the werewolf was barely looking at him.

"I'm disappointed, Stiles," said Peter, "I was expecting something better, really."

"Fuck you!" Stiles shouted, trying to dodge around him again. He saw a car pass at the end of the track, but they were travelling so fast. The driver probably didn't even look down a track like this. Peter spun him around and, with a hand tight on his upper arm, pulled Stiles back to the car. He opened the trunk with his other hand.

Stiles tugged against the grip, which didn't give an inch. He kicked Peter in the leg, and punched him with his free hand. Peter gave him a look that showed how unimpressed he was. "You want to get in by yourself or you want me to put you in?"

"Fuck off, you psycho!" Stiles replied, and aimed fingers for Peter's eyes this time, a weak point as his dad had taught him. He was nowhere near contact before Peter had upended him into the trunk. He squawked as he hit the thinly carpeted metal.

"I suppose it was only to be expected," said Peter, "You had barely any time to plan, and I understand you're nervous about not knowing where you are. Do you need tying up inside there, or can you just be patient now?"

Stiles bit his lips. If he were free he had options. Bound, he'd be pretty much helpless. He shook his head a tiny amount.

Peter smiled, "See? We can be reasonable."

Stiles clenched his jaw, biting down on his reply.

"Get some sleep," said Peter, "We'll get there soon, and then we'll have a nice conversation."

"Peter!" Stiles breathed, before the lid could close on him, blocking out the sun, "Why are you doing this?"

Peter smiled. It seemed almost genuine. "That's better. Information, that's the key isn't it?" He patted Stiles on the head, affectionately, "I will tell you everything when we're safely away where they won't find us. I promise."

"Peter! Peter!" Stiles pleaded, but the trunk was shut, encasing him in darkness.

…xxx…xxx…

"So… are we thinking that Stiles isn't completely … human?"

Derek gave Scott the unimpressed look that comment deserved. Scott blushed

"No, I don't... no, I mean…"

Derek interrupted his mumbling, "Scott, do you think none of us would have smelled it if Stiles was a different species?"

"Yeah, sure," Scott remedied, "I just mean, well, the fae, Edana?"

Derek looked up at the creature that was still perched in the air above them, nominally ignoring them, but possibly listening to every word.

"She's, like, obsessed!"

Derek looked at Scott again, eyebrow raised.

"I mean, Stiles is cool, yeah? We're bros, and, yeah, I'd do pretty much anything for him, but I know he'd do pretty much anything for me, too."

Derek frowned, knowing jealousy wasn't the appropriate reaction right now.

"But this fae, right? How many times has she actually met Stiles?"

"I don't know, about three?" said Derek.

"Exactly!" Scott cried, "People who don't know Stiles don't get obsessed! He's like, super annoying the first few times you meet him!"

"Hey!" Derek protested, angrily.

"Oh, come on, dude!" said Scott, "Those first few times you met him, you hated him! Admit it, dude, I was there!"

"Or maybe I hated you and he just happened to be standing next to you," said Derek.

Maybe Scott couldn't hear insults when he was trying so hard to use his brain, "And the teachers, like, can't stand him! He once wrote an essay on the history of circumcision for Econ!"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Well, maybe you're answering your own question, there," he said, "Just because Stiles is human doesn't mean he's normal."

Scott leaned forward, full of urgency, "Right, but how not normal?"

Derek wondered if he could roll his eyes any bigger, "Scott!"

"Hear me out, dude!" said Scott, "That nogitsune could have gone after me or Allison, but it didn't! It went for Stiles! Why?"

Derek rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. "Scott, you really should leave the thinking to people more qualified."

"We all just assumed it was because he was the weakest, the human without the training. But what if we were wrong? What if it went for him because he was the strongest?"

Derek could only shrug, "I don't know, Scott!"

"And then there was Peter, right? When he was looking for you, back when he was alpha, he didn't even come to me for help! He went straight for Stiles!"

That made Derek frown, "What are you...?"

Scott it seemed was too excited to listen to Derek's whole question, "He knew Stiles could track you down! He went after Lydia, bit her, and then kidnapped Stiles."

Scott was on the balls of his feet, practically jumping up and down like a puppy.

Derek tried to ask "Why did he...?"

But Scott interrupted, "Because Stiles could find you!"

"But..." Derek blinked a few times, trying to process, "How did Peter know that?"

"Exactly!" cried Scott.

Derek took a moment to put it all together. It couldn't work, surely it couldn't. "So, are you saying that not only is Stiles some kind of magical super-being that somehow smells and behaves like a normal human being, but that my psychotic uncle who was in a coma for six years knows about it?"

"Yes!" cried Scott.

"Scott, that's crazy!" Derek groaned.

Eyes wide, Scott stared at him earnestly, "Is it, though? Like, you know Peter offered Stiles the bite?"

Derek did not know that. "Scott, I think I'd have noticed if Stiles was a werewolf."

Scott nodded, almost desperate now, "Exactly! Peter offered Stiles the bite, Stiles turned it down, and Peter was OK with it!"

Derek tried to imagine it, sixteen year old Stiles standing up to an alpha werewolf, and getting his way. He shouldn't have been surprised. He'd seen with his own eyes when the kid threw an exploding cocktail of chemicals at fully wolfed out Peter. He realized he'd probably always known that Stiles was pretty darn amazing, but it was disturbing to think that Peter could know why.

"Why didn't Stiles want the bite?" asked Derek.

"I don't know," said Scott, "Maybe because he saw what a mess we were all making of it? Maybe he thought he'd give himself the chance to opt out of the crazy so long as he was human?"

"Maybe," said Derek, thoroughly depressed at the thought that Stiles might deny himself extra strength and power just so he didn't have to be like Derek.

"That's not the point, Derek!" Scott insisted, "Peter listened! To Stiles!"

It took a few moments to process what Scott was inferring. Enough time for Scott to re-launch.

"I mean, he didn't think twice about me! He just saw me in the forest, didn't even know me, and bit me because he wanted pack! But Stiles got the choice!"

"Scott, Peter was unhinged when he went after you," said Derek, "He was disoriented and..."

"Come on!" cried Scott, "you agreed! You saw that he wasn't! He totally knew what he was doing!"

Derek sighed. How could he get Scott to understand? He'd only ever seen creepy, crazy Peter. "Scott," he began, "Peter... he wasn't... isn't just evil."

He saw Scott's look of dismissal. He had to counteract it, "When I was a kid, Peter was like this... cool uncle. He was only like seven years older than Laura, and when Mom was all alpha of alphas and off meeting other alphas or whatever, Peter was the one who let us stay up late, playing video games and stuff. He'd get pizza or..."

"You mean he was a half-assed baby sitter who couldn't be bothered to get you to go to bed?" said Scott.

"No!" Derek protested, aware that possibly there might have been some of that in teenaged Peter's dealings with him and his siblings, "I mean... Mom said he was this great advisor. He saw dynamics in the packs that even she hadn't picked up on."

"Ok," said Scott, "This isn't supposed to be a discussion on the merits of Peter. This is about Stiles."

Derek nodded. "OK, let's go with Stiles hypothetically being some sort of supernatural being, does that change anything?"

Scott frowned, "What do you mean?"

Derek tried again, "If Stiles isn't human, would that stop you loving him?"

"What?" cried Scott, "No!"

Derek nodded, "Good," he said.

Scott put his head on one side and looked at Derek closely, frown in place, "What about you?" he asked, "If Stiles is secretly a werewolf eating monster, would you still love him?"

Derek glared at the boy, found himself growling. Too many people had accused him of loving Stiles. He did, of course, but... Stiles was so young. Even when he turned eighteen, he wasn't anything like the same age as Derek. He should be off to college, maybe living in a big city for a while, exploring, getting to know himself. And all the time, Derek was just getting older, settling in Beacon Hills because there was nothing else for him in the world. Because Derek was a mess of broken bits and misery, while Stiles was whole and beautiful and alive, and didn't deserve to be pulled further into Derek's shit storm of a life.

"So... you don't love him?" asked Scott, after minutes of silence.

Derek ignored him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for delays. Hope you enjoyed!  
> Comments appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken so long!!!  
> Here is some more. And I promise to try to do better!

It was dark in the trunk. Without his phone and without the light needed to read his watch, after a while, Stiles couldn't tell how long he'd been in there. It was disturbing. He nearly had a panic attack, feeling smothered by the dark, imagining being choked or poisoned by car fumes, until he realized Peter would be able to hear him as he drove, and probably wouldn't have gone to this much trouble just to let him die in the trunk of a car.

Which gave him the brilliant idea of annoying Peter to death.

He started to sing. He began with the old classics of 'I know a song that'll get no your nerves*', and 'Camp town races,' before progressing to power ballads. They had the added bonus of being loud enough that Peter wouldn't dare stop for gas in fear of being noticed. Or go through a town.

After what felt like hours, and once he thought he'd exhausted his Dad's favorite eighties power ballads compilation track list, he heard the car come to a halt. He stopped singing, readying to be confronted by Peter's angry face. He tensed, ready to spring, to dodge, to do something. Nothing happened.

"Uh, Peter?" called Stiles.

He got no reply. So he shouted louder. "Peter? Peter?!"

His breathing was suddenly erratic. What was happening now? Was Peter going to leave him on some road side to die? Or was he about to burn the car or push it off a cliff or had he placed some sort of time delay on an explosive device? Did he just want Stiles, Dad and Isaac out of the way so he could take out Deaton, Lydia and Kira and then take Scott and Derek by surprise?

"Peter!" he shouted, in almost full on panic mode, punching the lid of the trunk, which hurt so much, but did nothing to help him calm down. He kicked too, and screamed, his eyes leaking tears.

It took an age to cry himself into a stupor. When, what felt like hours later, Peter opened the trunk, Stiles wasn't even able to glare.

Peter smiled at him, "I'm pleased you've calmed down," he said, "I almost decided I couldn't get to the store. I got nervous I'd have to come back and gag you."

Stiles didn't even reply. If Peter was surprised by Stiles' silence, he didn't show it. "I'll drive us somewhere more unrecognizable, and then we'll stop for some food."

Stiles nodded, though he had a tiny moment where he wondered if he could get a look around now, maybe it would give him a clue about what direction they were travelling. Or maybe not. The sky around Peter was dark now, dotted with few stars and many clouds. He must have been in the trunk for hours.

"Do you need anything?" asked Peter.

"Not to be in the trunk of your car?" said Stiles.

The werewolf smiled, "I'll take that as a no," he said, and pushed the lid closed again.

"Peter, wait!" Stiles shouted, dreading the dark.

The lid paused, and Stiles assumed Peter was waiting for him to continue.

"Can I have some ... water? Something to drink?"

The lid opened again. "Water?"

Stiles realized he really did want some now. His mouth was dry, and the panic and crying, not to mention the stale air of the trunk, had given him a headache. He nodded.

Peter put his head on one side, "But you have a whole bottle of it in your pocket, don't you?" he said, with a smile, "I thought you'd keep yourself hydrated."

Stiles put a hand on the tainted water, and closed his eyes. His last weapon was gone. In fact it had never really existed. He pulled it out and handed it to Peter.

"Yes, you're right," said Peter, "I'd better pour it away. We wouldn't want someone to drink it by accident. This particularly species of wolfsbane is far more toxic to humans than it is to werewolves."

Stiles nodded, and didn't protest as Peter once more closed the trunk. But he did flinch.

The car started again, and then they drove for a little while longer, this time on bumpier, ragged roads. Stiles felt himself being jostled, knew bruises would be forming however he lay. He already felt cramp in his limbs.

...xxx...xxx...

Hours of awkward silence gave way to hours of awkward silence. Derek watched Edana floating carelessly above their heads, and wondered if she had been right. And if she were, if Stiles chose to go, could Derek let him?

The thought of Stiles leaving was more painful than it had any right to be. Stiles was just a local kid who had stuck his nose into Derek's business, and nearly got himself killed and Derek convicted of murder for his trouble. He was a hyperactive teenage boy. He had no right to have such an impact on Derek's thoughts.

Yet he did. Even before Derek had really been attracted to Stiles, he'd felt kind of drawn to the kid. He'd gone to Stiles when he was dying, when he was on the run. He'd felt the need to protect Stiles, had trusted Stiles to cut his arm off. And now he was kind of hopeless without him.

He was a bit lost right now, just thinking of Stiles. He didn't really notice that their time was passing. Thankfully, Scott did.

"Derek!" he hissed, "Derek, I think we have to run!"

Derek looked around. Scott seemed to be right. The reality was fading, vanishing from existence. He sprang to his feet, noticing the fae above them smirk and vanish into the air.

"Come on!" cried Scott, and Derek saw a doorway back to the Deaton's room. Scott was already halfway there, but edging back, trying to make sure Derek was following. Derek did just that, scrambling into a sprint before springing through the doorway in time to watch the entire impossible realm disappear. They fell to the ground, back at Deaton's, their friends gathered near, as they'd left them, but more bored looking.

"Wow," mumbled Scott from beside him. Derek agreed. Despite the overly dramatic end of the experience, he was impressed by the whole place.

"What happened?" Lydia demanded, "Did you save him? Is Stiles safe? Are we going to be attacked by fairies? Are..."

"They said they won't take Stiles unless he agrees," said Scott.

Lydia stared, as though waiting for more.

"So..." said Scott, "That's OK?"

Lydia stared some more, then cried, "No, it's not!"

Scott and Derek exchanged glances.

"That was already the deal!" Lydia clarified.

"Well... I think... I mean, he won't agree to go..." Scott mumbled uncertainly, looking at Derek for reassurance.

Lydia rolled her eyes, "Unless he's threatened!" she said.

"Why would she threaten him, though?" Scott replied. "She's totally obsessed with him..."

Lydia looked ready to explode into a diatribe on the stupidity of men, "She won't threaten him! She'll threaten you! And Derek! And me, and the sheriff and your Mom! Have you lost the brain cells you were born with?"

"I don't ... is that how it could work?" Scott asked, "She promised that if he chose to stay there would be no repercussions?"

It was a question, directed at Derek, as though Scott were checking he'd heard the same thing. But Derek had other priorities. Stiles would be bouncing off the walls right now, worried out of his mind, and Derek had to let him know everyone was OK. His phone was already in his hand and he called Stiles' cell.

It went to voicemail.

"What the…?" he mumbled, angrily. He hung up and tried again.

"He's not answering?" Lydia demanded.

"Maybe his dad confiscated his phone?" Scott suggested.

It didn't make sense, because even the sheriff would have answered to Derek. He tried the sheriff's number anyway. When he got no response, with his heart pounding loud enough for a deaf human to hear, he called Isaac.

He was sprinting before the tinny recorded voice of Isaac had started its voicemail greeting.

...xxx...xxx...

When the car came to a halt once more, Stiles was aching to get out, to be able to stand and move and stretch. He waited impatiently for Peter to open the trunk, this time feeling far more awake. He sat up as soon as he was able, and groaned with the discomfort.

"Take it steady," said Peter, putting a supporting hand on Stiles' back, "It's been a few hours, you'll be cramped."

"Gee, thanks," said Stiles, "I'd never have noticed if you hadn't told me."

Peter hummed, but didn't remove his hand. He put his other hand under Stiles' legs and scooped him up.

"Hey!" Stiles cried, "I'm not your shopping dude!"

"Get the trunk," said Peter, "And I rarely carry shopping like this. I think this is more the traditional hold of the rescued damsel."

"So not helping you do anything," Stiles replied, "And I'm not a damsel! Jeez!"

Peter sighed, "OK," he said, and dropped Stiles. As he felt himself plummet, Stiles' treacherous hands grabbed onto the nearest solid structure. Which, annoyingly, was Peter. When his feet hit the floor, he realized they were now stood like a prom couple during a slow dance, Stiles dangling from Peter's shoulders.

Stiles let Peter know his feelings on the subject with a loud "Eugh!"

"Such a drama queen," sighed Peter, collecting a bag from the back seat.

"You know, I resent the constant undermining of my masculinity," Stiles objected.

"More or less than the kidnap?" Peter asked, lightly.

Stiles glared. "You could let me go while voicing admiration of my lacrosse technique. That'd sort both."

"I've got sandwiches, chips, water and soda," said Peter instead of answering, "want some?"

"Food and drink are not at the bottom of the list of things I want," said Stiles, eyeing the bags. "But freedom is still at the top."

"Not on the table right now," said Peter, "Your options are refreshment or not refreshment."

Stiles scrunched up his nose in distaste, "You know this is the second time you've kidnapped me, and I seriously don't know how to talk to you when you do that."

That just seemed to amuse Peter, who grinned and said "You could just eat, drink and shut up?"

Stiles snorted, "Yeah, if you want some quiet, you really should stop kidnapping me."

Peter actually laughed, as though there was nothing so amusing as a sarcastic and bitter teenager, and handed him a service station carrier bag. Stiles looked inside suspiciously, finding a sandwich and a soda. "Are these gonna kill me?" he asked.

Peter only found him more amusing, and started wondering back to the driver's seat of the car, "You think I'd bother poisoning you when one slice to your throat would be far less effort and require much less planning than this?"

"I think, 'You're demonstrably a total psycho' is totally enough answer for all of the above," said Stiles.

"Just eat," said Peter, "and sit down."

"I'd rather stand," said Stiles. "I've been kind of stationary for a while. And I'd rather not sit next to you as though we're some kind of friends, or something."

Peter rolled his eyes again, "Fine," he said. "I'll sit on the hood, you do what you want, so long as you stay within, let's say, ten feet of me."

Having no choice, Stiles hovered ineffectually near the car, pulling out the soda and guzzling it down. Peter sat far more serenely, perched on the hood of his car, calmly eating his own sandwich, and letting Stiles look around properly.

The only light came from the car. Peter had the inside lights and headlights on, clearly not worried about draining the battery. The lights showed Stiles that they were down a narrow forest track, maybe at a turning circle, surrounded by trees. He had no way of knowing how deep the trees were, whether they were in California still or if they'd crossed the border into another state, if these trees were part of a copse or a forest. But he could see no other light sources, so he had to assume there was nowhere sensible to run.

Peter chewed and watched him thoughtfully. "You know, I expected you to have more questions," he said, conversationally.

Stiles shrugged and grabbed his sandwich, ripping open the plastic, "I asked you why you are doing this lots of times, you refused to tell me. I'll ask again when I think your guard is down."

"That's your only question?" asked Peter, "The only thing you want to ask me?"

"OK," said Stiles, "What do you think you can gain from the insane kidnapping of the teenage son of a sheriff?" he asked, and added, because it was true, "You psychotic nut job."

"Nut job, psychotic and insane are synonymous, Stiles," said Peter, "And I hope to gain what I've always hoped to gain."

Stiles frowned, "Uh, the painful death of the people who murdered your family?" he asked, "Didn't you achieve that a few years ago?"

"My life hasn't always revolved around revenge," Peter told him, "Before revenge became essential and since my revenge was completed, I've wanted nothing more than a strong pack around me." He took another bite of his sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully.

"But you have that already," Stiles protested. "Or you did until you kidnapped the alpha's best friend."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Please, Scott McCall, my great alpha? A sixteen year old boy who's scared of killing people who put his pack in danger, and behaves like a twelve year old girl in love with a boy band?"

Stiles started to protest. Peter stopped him. "And before you start, I know you don't agree. That is plain for anyone to see." He sneered with distaste.

"What, you think you'd be better?" Stiles sneered back.

"Yes, of course," said Peter, casually.

Stiles could do nothing but flail.

"Obviously, by virtue of age and experience, I'm the natural choice," said Peter, "By intelligence, knowledge and cunning there is no one more suited than me."

Stiles flailed again, but this time he managed to speak. "You killed, like, a crap load of people!"

Peter nodded, "Yes, I punished those who attacked my pack. I killed those who killed my family. This is no less than the duty of an alpha. Should I have let them all go on living? Go on plotting against my kind and the people I love? Let them loose to repeat their actions? Is that what Scott would have done?"

"But… you killed your own niece! Just to get power!" Stiles cried, "And your nurse! She was helping you, and when you took what you wanted, you killed her and shoved her in the trunk of your car! You're a freaking psycho!"

"Are you done?" Peter interrupted, still calm, and still apparently feeling no sense of guilt at the extent of his crimes.

"Am I… are you out of your freaking mind!"

Peter didn't react. He simply carried on talking, calmly. "I told Scott and Derek about what happened with Laura," he said, "I assumed one of them would have passed it on to you."

Stiles rolled his eyes, and gestured wildly, "What your crap about how you were out of control?"

Peter blinked, "I was."

"We know about the picture!" Stiles found himself shouting, "We know you tricked Laura into coming back so you could kill her when she was least expecting it! That's stone cold, premeditated murder of your own niece!"

Peter screwed up the now empty sandwich wrapper, shoving it back into a bag, finally showing a bit of flustered emotion, "Am I allowed to answer to these accusations?"

"Oh, sure, like I've got a choice!" Stiles replied.

"Firstly, I didn't send any pictures to Laura," said Peter, "I told Scott and Derek the truth. I was completely out of my mind in the woods that night, operating completely on instinct. I killed a werewolf whose scent I didn't recognize. I wouldn't have recognised Laura's scent, because she hadn't been an alpha when I'd known her. Then I bit a strong young man to help build my pack. You think if I'd had full possession of my faculties I'd have chosen Scott McCall?"

"Come on!" Stiles cried, "You sent the picture! Deaton told us!"

Peter put his head on one side, unimpressed, "You think I walked into a store, developed a photo and bought a stamp when I was covered in 80% burns, Stiles?"

Stiles flailed again.

"I believe your second accusation was the murder of my nurse?" Peter added conversationally.

Stiles' brain made the connections. "Oh come on! You were totally in control when you did that!" he shouted.

Peter ignored him, "My nurse discovered I was a werewolf when I was confused in the hospital. I was regaining my strength and my mental capacities in fitful bursts," said Peter, "the hospital smells were uncomfortable, all chemical and alien, but as she'd been significant in my care from the time I was admitted, her scent had become at least unfamiliar. I began to trust her, I told her my story in more lucid moments. She, in turn, researched werewolves much the way you did. She discovered that we are strong, but that there were alphas who are stronger. She realized that if I were an alpha, I would be stronger. If she could make me an alpha, a strong, healthy alpha, I would be in her debt. I could make her stronger. So, she found out how to make me one."

Peter took a sip of his soda, then, eyes thoughtful. If Stiles had been paying less attention to the story and more attention to his own situation, he might have run at that moment, but he was too lost in the tale, mind a mess of denials but with no actual way to rebut Peter's version of events.

Peter continued, voice soft and regretful, "She asked me about my family. I knew that Laura and Derek had not been at home when the fire happened. I guessed that Laura would be alpha now, that she would have inherited it from her mother. It didn't strike me as unusual or wrong to share that information. Why would it? I wasn't at the height of my control yet, and I admit, I was still struggling to read people as I once had. The nurse suggested the trip to the woods for full moon, suggested that being with nature at such a time would build up my strength. She was my only confidant, and I thought I was still weak from my injuries, that I wouldn't hurt anyone. I trusted her."

At this point Peter actually sniffed, "I only realized what happened days later, when the news of Laura's murder had made the gossip of the other hospital staff. The nurse died the second that I no longer found her useful."

The filling of Stiles' sandwich landed on the floor.

"I only murdered the people who hurt my family," repeated Peter.

He stared into the night, eyes sad. Stiles stared at him, mind a whir. They stayed like that for some time.

* * *

Peter allowed Stiles to sit in the front seat for the remainder of their journey. He'd given the news as though he were offering Stiles an incredible act of generosity. Stiles didn't question it, but gave massively exaggerated and very sarcastic thanks before as he got in. Peter climbed into the driver's seat, and handed Stiles a sleep mask.

"I'm afraid I still can't allow you to find out where you are," Peter explained, patiently when Stiles just stared it and raised an eyebrow, "Thankfully, as it's dark now, an admittedly young father letting his teenaged son sleep when they're driving late is not unusual. If you try to peek, and believe me, I will know if you try, I will be forced to put you back in the trunk, keep you bound for every second of this trip, and I will be unable to allow you contact with anyone from Beacon Hills until I'm ready for this to end."

Stiles took the sleep mask, "I thought you were started pretending to be Nice Peter."

Peter merely shrugged, "I have not been "pretending" anything with you since I woke from my coma," he said. "There is no 'Nice' Peter: 'Nice' is an adjective that means nothing, and should never be applied to anything with more autonomy than interior decoration."

Stiles tried to convey his disagreement with his eyes and nose alone. Then he put the sleep mask over his eyes, leaving a tiny gap clear in the bottom right hand corner, away from Peter and hopefully towards any road signs that might give away their position.

Peter sighed, and readjusted the mask so that his entire vision was obscured. "Hands by your side," he instructed.

Stiles tried to glare with hidden eyes, but obeyed.

A soft material landed on him, making him jump. "It's just a blanket," said Peter. "It stays on and you don't move your hands from underneath it."

Stiles glared once more, but didn't reply. He was too busy thinking. Why had Peter bothered to tell him about the nurse and Laura? If he was planning to play nice, kidnap was not an obvious step. And there was a small but annoying part of Stiles that was actually believing his story. It fitted. They all thought that Peter had had no reason to kill the nurse, or at least no more reason to kill the nurse than he had to kill Stiles, and Stiles had lived, even been offered a place in his pack. Why wouldn't Peter have done the same for the nurse, or even just let the nurse be?

Because the nurse had killed Laura? Or at least got Laura killed.

Stiles wondered what would happen if he asked Peter about his family. Maybe it would help Stiles decide whether to believe him or not. If he could show some kind of genuine love... But would that actually prove anything? Peter was a practiced actor. And even if he didn't show emotion, it had been years since they died. Peter totally looked like the type that could repress massive amounts of pain and misery as a matter of course. Or let it all out in one massive revenge killing spree, then get over it.

Of course he'd cared about his family. He'd shown that. And it didn't make sense that he'd excluded Laura from that list, then for some reason completely forgiven Derek for killing him. It wasn't possible that Laura could possibly have hurt Peter more than Derek did, was it?

Stiles decided to stop thinking of all the reasons Peter had for hurting Derek. It was not a route to ease of mind. But Peter at least seemed distracted enough for him to try asking again.

"Why have you kidnapped me?" he asked.

"For the greater good," replied Peter, without missing a beat.

Stiles rolled his eyes beneath the sleep mask. Then tried to mimic the movement with his whole head so that Peter would know that was what he was doing. "That's not an answer, asshole."

He heard Peter hum, "It's an answer," he said, "Just not the one you want. You should sleep."

"You should sleep," Stiles muttered, grumpily.

"I'm driving," said Peter.

Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to guess where they were.

...xxx...xxx...

There was no one at Stiles' house.

No one. Derek could smell that people had been there, and recently. He could smell Stiles and the sheriff powerfully, and the scent of Scott had permeated the place, but it was not so recent as Stiles'. And there was Isaac's too. And Peter. And fear.

Fear.

"Derek!"

He spun, snarling. He hadn't even chosen to, it was just a response to the terror.

Scott ran after him, "Jeez you run fast!" he panted, "I'm supposed to be the fastest!"

Derek got a hold of himself and stopped growling.

Scott continued, "I tried to shout but you didn't hear! I've got like a hundred messages from my mom! Stiles rang her while she was at work, said his dad was hurt and Isaac was unconscious. Mom ran round there. She found Stiles' Dad handcuffed to the stairs with injured arms. And Isaac was unconscious. And, Derek, I think… I think Stiles has been kidnapped."

The fae, so soon? He wasn't eighteen yet! It wasn't fair! They'd got a promise from the queen! They couldn't do this!

Scott was rambling now. On and on and on. Almost insane. Derek could barely hear the words. They were just panic and misery like his own. Until Derek realized they weren't. Scott was looking to him for advice, for information. It made no sense. Scott knew Derek was as clueless as him about fae.

"I don't… they promised…"

Scott's eyes widened. "Derek, Stiles has been kidnapped by Peter!"

It took a fraction of a second for his fear to turn to shock. And barely more for his shock to turn to fury.

Peter would die the very next time Derek lay eyes on him.

 

* * *

 

The road gradually became less bumpy, until it felt like a normal highway once more, at which stage Stiles felt Peter speed up. He knew instinctively that Peter wouldn't be speeding, and there would be next to no chance of them being pulled over by any patrol car. Because Peter was right, they did look normal to anyone who cared to look. A dad with his sleeping teenaged son driving home late. It was warm and quiet in the car, and as Stiles had no desire to make casual conversation with Peter, he was soon drifting off into sleep. He knew he shouldn't. He should be counting turns or something, to check whether he was being fooled. They might not be going as far as it seemed, after all, Peter could be going in circles to disorientate Stiles. Stiles needed to be awake to check. He didn't succeed though, and he only realized he'd fallen asleep when he was already being woken by a hand on his shoulder.

He grumbled, angrily at himself, and sat up, hands instantly going for the sleep mask.

"Not yet," said Peter.

"Are you kidding me?!" Stiles shouted, "You want me to get up and walk somewhere wearing a blindfold?"

"Hmm," said Peter, "Good point."

And suddenly his arms were under Stiles' legs, and again, Stiles was lifted in the princess carry. Stiles squawked indignantly but was ignored.

The sound of Peter's footsteps morphed from soft thumps against dry earth, to the clunking sound of wooden floorboards, and then Stiles heard the metal of keys in a lock, then felt his feet brush against a hard wood, once, then after a pause, once again. Then he was falling. He squealed, arms flailing wildly, but his landing was soft.

His hands flew at once for the mask on his face which he wrenched off.

Peter was smirking at him, but Stiles had seen Peter smirk before and was far more interested in searching his surroundings.

He was in a comfortable but basic bedroom. The walls around him were wooden panels, decorated with some framed prints of paintings, and the odd 'old-world' themed object, like ancient bellows and china plates. Add to that, the ever present scent of trees and noises that could come from a CD called 'Sounds of nature,' Stiles figured out one thing.

"Dude, did you rent a cabin in the woods?"

Peter smiled, "Yes I did, actually. And no, not under my name, and no, no one will be visiting us unannounced, no gossip is going to spread about the man in his thirties and his teenaged lover that can get back to your dad for him to reinterpret, and yes I can defend you from any passing axe murderers."

"Er, I didn't ask any of those things, actually," said Stiles.

"No, but you were about to at least think them," Peter told him, cockily.

"Actually I was going to suggest we had never left Beacon Hills and see your reaction," Stiles corrected.

"Nice try," said Peter, impressed, "I admit that had I stayed in Beacon Hills, I probably would have tried to persuade you otherwise, but I couldn't have for the simple reason that Scott and Derek are werewolves and could sniff us out if we were too close."

"Eugh, fine," said Stiles, "But, dude, seriously? I was never going to suggest an axe-murderer."

Peter raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I wasn't!" Stiles cried, offended by the suggestion, "Axe-murderer sounds like someone who goes around murdering axes, which is a total waste of time."

Peter's eyebrow remained raised. So Stiles continued, "I was going to suggest zombie apocalypse."

Peter sighed, "Of course you were."

"Hey, I go to school with werewolves and banshees, and you expect me to be cynical of zombies? Come on, dude, you're basically a zombie!"

Peter interrupted, "Actually, Stiles, it's been a long drive. I'd like to get some sleep now."

"Sure," said Stiles, "Just sleep. I'm OK, here. If I need anything, I'll just drive down to town..."

"You will not be able to start a car and expect me not to wake up," said Peter, "And, just in case you're considering walking, the nearest town is forty miles away and I won't be telling you the direction."

Stiles glared again. "I could take the car then run you over with it," he grumbled, "It really wouldn't bother me."

"Yes it would," said Peter, "And it would hurt me, quite a bit, but not enough that I wouldn't be able to drag you out and tie you to something very uncomfortable."

"Dick," Stiles mumbled.

"No, just in control," said Peter, "as I should be. I am the alpha."

"You're really not," said Stiles.

"I will be," Peter replied.

Stiles groaned, "Seriously, is that your big plan? To get Scott to come after me so you can take him down? Is that all I am to you? Bait?"

"Oh, no, Stiles, I consider that very much the back-up plan," said Peter calmly. "I also noticed that your reaction to that was more disappointment than fear. I'll remember that."

"Douche," said Stiles, folding his arms and shuffling back to the headboard.

The headboard of the bed. The significance of which had only just struck him.

A queasy feeling grew suddenly in his stomach. Peter had said he was going to sleep. To sleep. Not to bed. But Stiles had been put on the bed…

Peter brought a hand to Stiles' face, and Stiles sprang away from it, acting purely on instinct. He nearly made it off the bed before Peter had both his wrists and was in his face, saying his name with quiet urgency.

"Stiles! Stiles! Stiles!"

There was nothing Stiles could do. Peter had kidnapped him and was now trapping him in a bed.

"I'm not going to hurt you Stiles."

Not going to hurt? Was this a warped fantasy? Did Peter believe he could persuade Stiles he wanted to… be on a bed with Peter?

"Stiles, I would never force you to do that," Peter said.

Wouldn't he? He killed his niece, he killed his nurse, he seduced Melissa for his own twisted reasons.

"Stiles, none of that was rape," said Peter.

Stiles blinked the tears from his eyes, miserably. Peter's only response was to move his grip from Stiles' wrists to his hands.

"I would never hurt you like that, Stiles," said Peter. "What kind of alpha would I be if I went around doing things like that?"

Stiles sniffed, glaring at Peter, "The kind who murders people and turns teenagers into monsters without their consent," Stiles replied.

"We've talked about that, Stiles," said Peter, "I'm not the monster you think I am."

"Tell me why you kidnapped me!" Stiles' voice sounded harsh, like he had a heavy cold. His terror had promptly dropped from him, leaving him feeling heavy and useless, like a helpless lump.

Peter sighed. He stroked his hands over Stiles'. "I didn't realize how deep your hatred of me went," he said. "I've got work to do, it seems."

"What work?" Stiles hissed, "What is your plan?"

Peter smiled sadly. "I'll explain everything in the morning."

"Explain now!" Stiles demanded.

Peter shook his head, "I'll tell you this, Stiles. You do not need to fear me any more than you fear your father or your principal. I am a good, strong leader. I have no need for intimidation." As though to prove his point, he pushed Stiles' legs back onto the bed, so Stiles was lying on his side. "Stiles, I need to be the alpha." Peter, stroked Stiles' hair back, and smiled, almost kindly. "I need you in my pack. So I need you to want that too."

It made no sense. At all. But Stiles didn't have the energy to argue. He didn't feel like he was in danger, and Peter was already stepping away from him and out through the door. Stiles caught a glimpse of a well-kept, rustic living area, before the light in his room vanished, and the door was closed.

Once again, he failed to stay awake.

 


End file.
